Omega: Pharaoh's Return
by Tusken1602
Summary: The Blood Arrows are not the largest gang on Omega, or the strongest. But they're the only home I've ever known. Now with my uncle returning to the station, with new plans and strange allies, it looks like my whole world is about to turned upside down. Set in Katkiller-V's Another Realm Mass Effect Universe.
1. Act 1: Welcome to Omega

**Omega's Child**

 _(Khentu Emrys)_

 **Location:** Afterlife District, Omega

* * *

The Salarian hacker flexed his long fingers, glancing around before settling his attention on me. "Ready, Ken?"

I made one last check of my own, then nodded. "Let's do it."

Barco and I moved to the aircar, and the alien moved underneath it with a fluid agility that would have turned the best human contortionist green with envy.

"Sometime this shift, frog-man," I muttered.

"Eight seconds," came the terse reply.

"Make it five," I hissed back. "We're standing out here with our asses in the wind."

"Large target, then."

I growled at the Salarian's attempt at humor, but before I could make a witty response, the doors of the aircar _clicked_ green and hissed open. I dove into the driver's seat, while the salarian seemingly poured himself into the passenger side.

"Ken?" Came the worried voice of Wasilla M'taza, the third member of this little enterprise. "The fast the better here."

"Three seconds," I answered. "On your left."

The side door of the aircar opened, and an Asari dove from her place on the street into the vehicle.

"How's it going, Barco?" She asked, working her legs around to try and sit normally.

"Disabling tracking beacon…and explosive charges," The Salarian answered.

"The _what_?" We both asked, aghast.

Barco shrugged. "Apparently the owner of this aircar very much did not want it stolen. Or at least, wished to ensure that its theft would be the last act of lesser-skilled perpetrators."

"Please tell me that you've disabled them," I stated slowly, half-looking left and right for a place to dive out of the vehicle.

"Done…. And done." He nodded sharply, "Punch it."

I did, the engine roaring to life as I hauled back on the controls. As soon as we were clear of the platform I banked left, moving our newest vehicle into the traffic heading down into the lower levels of Omega.

"Oh _goddess_ , there's booze back here!" The sound of several panels being shoved back revealed Wasilla investigating the rest of our acquisitions. "Serrice Ice? Athame's sword, this stuff is _stupid_ expensive, even at Afterlife!"

"Save it," I stated hurriedly. "We'll sell it to Tyco at the Pyramid. He'll give us a fair price for it."

Wasilla let out a disappointed groan, but I heard her put it away all the same. Two flasks were handed up to us, filled with some kind of Batarian whiskey, from the cheap smell.

"To us!" The young maiden crowed, as Barco and I took the them. While he swigged and coughed, I clicked the destination into the nav-com, and leaned back in the seat, drink in hand. "Another heist, another payday!"

"To us," I repeated, clinking flasks with my two companions. "Another successful day on Omega."

* * *

The Doru district on Omega was actually one of the nicer levels to be on, at least by Omega's standards. Especially the upper levels with the core stretching out above, actual buildings looming high. But the squalid expanse of metal and rust still stood in stark contrast to the comparatively-glamorous aura of the Afterlife District we had just left. Neon signs glimmered and flickered, advertising wares of every kind: red sand, white demon, black dust, whatever drugs you needed or wanted.

Our destination, however, had no sign above the door. If you knew Jordan Powell's place, there was no need for one, and those who did not know him had no business coming in off the street.

I guided the aircar down through a hole cut into the structure's roof, which let us set down in the middle of a giant workshop. Several workers stood by, cutting torches and angle grinders in hand, foretelling the fate of the beautiful vehicle I was driving.

A pang of regret flickered across my mind, but that was life on Omega. Another day, another vehicle. Tomorrow it might be a garbage hauler, or parts of it might be sold back to the very suckers we had stolen it from. There was a beautiful symmetry about it, I determined.

"Powers o' darkness!" The elderly man marveled as my crew and I threw open the doors and exited the vehicle, Wasilla now with a large duffle-bag, I noticed. "A Ciranor 3000! Nary see such glitz on Omega, indeed ya don't. She'll fetch a roight proper price, indeed she will, sah. Where'dya nick'er?"

"Some asshole outside of Afterlife," I answered, watching Barco transfer the full read-out to the mechanics, the explosive device highlighted in red. "A paranoid asshole, by the looks of it."

"Apparently not paranoid enough," Old Jordan chuckled. "Me lads will have her cut down to size, right enough."

"Eight thousand sound about right?" I asked, looking up and down the vehicle with a theatrical eye of examination.

Now Jordan Powell's face fell, as if he'd just snorted a shard of glass in his line of dust. "Hmmm," he hummed, much longer than needed, "Right dicey to shift, this fancy stuff though, no mistake. Gonna cost sommat extry, that is. 'Fraid three is the best I can do, young master."

"Are you kidding?" I huffed, "Your face said it all when we pulled up: People are gonna stumble over each other to get a piece of this beauty. It'll move three times as fast. Seven-seven-five is the _minimum_ I'd accept for such a treasure."

We went back and forth, as we both knew we would, but this was the time-honored tradition of bitching and haggling. I got to hear about his sick cousins that we both knew didn't exist, but they brought the price of the stolen vehicle down another two thousand anyways. He got to listen about the dangers of grabbing a car from near Afterlife, which he didn't really give a shit about, but it kept the price a bit high anyway.

 _Much_ time and talking later, the three of us were exiting the non-descript warehouse, five thousand and ninety-three credits the richer.

"Barco, your share," I stated, wiring twenty-five hundred of the credits to his Omni-Tool.

"Pleasure doing business with you, Ken," He stated, and then slunk off into the shadows of the nearby alleyway. He vanished almost at once, off to... wherever the hell he went in-between jobs.

"And mine?" Wasilla asked, her arm going to her hip.

"Thousand credits," I answered, already sending the amount to her account in turn.

"Hey now," She chuckled, but a chill had seeped into the back of her words. "You said we'd split the other half of the haul, 50/50."

"You're carrying the duffel bag with all the booze," I replied. "That's at least worth another five hundred and you know it."

"This bag was just sitting in the back," She protested. "The money is for…"

I cut her off. "'Fifty/fifty of all loot,' were my precise words, if my memory serves me right."

Sighing, she slung the bag off her shoulder and handed it to me. _"Fine_. Take the fucking bag and give me my damn credits."

I sent her the extra cash to make up for it. The Asari double-checked her own Omni-Tool, relaxed, and then gave me a disarming grin.

"You need an extra gun on another job, you know where to find me," Wass called out behind her, making sure her hips sashayed with every step. "Or you know, if you're looking for a good time!"

"In your dreams!" I called out, and chuckled when she sent a rude gesture my way. I still watched her go, I mean, come on, and only bent over to pick up the bag once her ass was too far away to watch.

A cool voice spoke as I did, "You should have your servants speak to you with more respect."

All the mirth and merriment of the moment vanished in an instant, replaced with irritation and dread as I straightened, the bag's shoulder strap over my back, and turned to face my half-brother.

Ptolemy was the only biotic in our family, which in this case served to make him the biggest asshole. Like me, he was of medium build and height, and we both kept our hair shaved down to the scalp. We both had inherited our father's strong jaw and brown eyes, but his skin was several shades paler than my darker tones, the legacy of his mother.

"First of all," I said, beginning the count with my middle finger to emphasize how valuable I found his opinions, "they are my _friends,_ not my servants, but it doesn't surprise me that that concept eludes you. Second, bowing and scraping just isn't my style: you're the one Dad is grooming to be _Pharaoh_ , after all. And then you can have everyone kowtow to you while you wear the double-crown for all I care. Third, don't think I didn't notice you waited to speak up until her ass was out of sight."

The grunt I received in answer showed his own opinion of my answer, but Ptolemy fell in step with me as we made our way down the street.

" _Khentu_ ," He began speaking again, emphasizing the 'h' in my full name just to annoy me.

"Tol," I interrupted, using his nickname to annoy him in turn.

"...Father sent me looking for you," He continued as if I hadn't said anything. "He expected you at least three hours ago."

"Well pardon me for not rushing through a job just for the convenience of Dad's schedule," I answered.

The two of us continued in silence as we came onto the main street. It would not do for everyone in Little Egypt to see the boss' sons bickering and arguing. Ordinarily, two well-dressed individuals moving through the crowded streets would have been the instant target of a dozen pickpockets, at the very least, followed by beggars and would-be muggers. But even if they didn't recognize our faces, and everyone in this neighborhood did, the white arrows tattooed on our foreheads told everyone that we were members of the Arrows of Knesset.

The quality and detail of said tattoos also told of our rank in the organization. Most of the initiates off the street were lucky to afford anything other than a red-hot brand scorching the arrow-shape on their foreheads.

After a short walk, the giant black sign of the Pyramid Club hove into view. It wasn't the largest bar in our area, or even the fanciest, but the firing slits on the walls and the steel shutters revealed exactly why it served as the HQ of the Arrows of Knesset. The doormen moved aside, the backs of their hands pressing against their foreheads in respect. Ptolemy made the briefest of nods, while I rolled my eyes at the useless obeisance. People either respected you or they didn't. Making them salute you every time they saw you served nothing, in my opinion.

We moved through the mess of tables and dancers towards the area at the back. A giant of a man, his skin even darker than mine, stood to his feet.

"Nobu," Ptolemy nodded at the man. "Is Father in?"

Nobu nodded, stepping aside to allow us to pass, and following us into the back room of the club. A half-dozen figures, all of them human, lounged here and there, some of them drinking, some of them smoking, and others cleaning an assortment of weapons.

 _"Haty-a_ ," Nobu boomed out, bringing his own hand to his forehead. "Your sons return."

At first glance, Mentu Emrys was not a tall or imposing man. In fact, Ptolemy and I were both already taller than him. But the scarred visage and glass eye, the old bastard was too cheap to get a prosthetic, showed the countless fights he'd been through to get to where he was. And the other Arrows respected him for it to the point where when he rose to his feet, they all did the same.

"Ahhh… _Ptolemy_ , well done," he murmured, and then cast his one good eye on me. "Where the _fuck_ have you been?"

I placed the bag on the nearby table. "Doing a job in the Upper levels. Took longer than expected."

"Successful?"

I shot him a look and simply brought up my Omni-Tool, sending him a copy of the transfer of credits to one of the Arrow's many accounts. He grunted in not-quite satisfaction at the numbers he saw, and then that one eye narrowed.

"You still use that blue whore and the frog?"

Irritation surged through me, but I merely blinked and then nodded in answer.

"They're too fucking expensive," my father growled. "They demand the lion's share of any profit to be gained from your little… _jobs_. Should take our _own_ people to do it."

"Show me one of our people who is as skilled a hacker as Barco and I will," I shrugged. "And Wasilla is the best shot south of Fumi."

"Both of them contract out to the Eclipse regularly," A silky smooth voice stated. "Dangerous to trust such two-faced Outsiders."

At nearly twenty years younger than my dad, Hatshepsut was his latest obsession: a pair of tits dark enough, and with a name Egyptian enough, to be exotic. The odds were hundred to one that her birth name was _not_ Hatshepsut, but when a whore sets out to seduce the boss of a proto-Egyptian gang, you call yourself whatever you think will work. She had literally slept her way to the top, but you couldn't argue with results: at the top she sat now.

"News flash: so do fucking we, Hattie," I retorted, throwing myself down in a chair. "Welcome to fucking Omega."

"Enough," Dad cut off whatever clever remark his latest bitch had been about to throw back at me. "Gather round, all of you."

The group shifted and moved to take their seats around the long table that filled the room. _Ptolemy_ and I on his immediate right, his whore on his left, and the other big names in the gang taking the rest of the chairs.

"I bring this Meeting of the Elder Arrows to order," Dad intoned, "Amun-Ra bear witness to our words and deeds."

All of us clapped our hands at the words in the usual response. I had stopped believing in Amun-Ra when I was eight, but traditions were traditions.

Prayer complete, Father glanced at the largest man present, "First up: Nobu, what is the report on Tuhi?"

The giant leaned forward. "Alpha Bern states that the Talons have moved up in force. They have taken the Jaleh Market and Dice Dens."

Growls and murmurs ran around the table.

"Tarak may have been a squint, but at least he and the Blue Suns served to keep these _fuckers_ down where they belonged," hissed Rashid, a thin man with a wiry beard far too large for his face. "With them gone…"

"True." Ivan Asimov was a broad-shouldered, muscled Beckenstein-Russian only slightly smaller than Nobu, a mirror opposite to Rashid. "A year ago, Talons nobodies on Omega. Now, Talons threat to even White Tigers."

The rest of us nodded, however unwillingly. With open season being declared on the Blue Suns Corporation last year, every wannabe with a gun had gone after them here on Omega, especially after Aria had executed Tarak in the middle of Afterlife.

The exact ins and outs of _why_ Jona Sederis and Aria T'Loak decided to turn on the Blue Suns was unknown to the majority of us commoners on Omega. Rumors abounded of plots, conspiracies, and hidden agendas, but one thing everyone agreed on: they must have broken the One Rule of Omega: Don't Fuck with Aria.

Now, the larger gangs like the Brotherhood, the Eclipse, and the Blood Pack were muscling in on the territory of the once-mighty PMC, like varren on a fresh kill: eager to divide, and quick to fight over any disputes.

"Do we have any leads on who their new leader is, now that Old Marius has croaked?" asked Michael O'Shea, twirling his absurdly-long combat knife in his free hand. O'Shea was the only human here who had actually _been_ to Earth, which granted him hero worship among many of the lower ranks and initiates, and made him a close confidant of my father.

All eyes turned to Hattie, who worked her hands nervously though her voice remained even. "We know she's another Turian. Our contacts tell us that the Talons call her 'Red.' But that's likely just because of the tribal markings on her face. Don't have any leads on her actual name yet."

"Keep working on it," Dad answered, reaching out and squeezing her hand. "To defeat your enemy, one must _know_ your enemy."

I rolled my eyes. My father was the only one at the table who still believed that Hattie had any kind of intelligence network in place. The rest of us knew the more likely scenario was that she was _fucking_ the White Tigers', Brotherhood's, and Eight-Zero Demons' intelligence operatives to learn what she could. But now was not the time to deliver my opinion on Hatshepsut's 'Intelligence gathering.'

"Timothy Hern is dead," Rashid reported in his turn, though his face didn't show any mourning for the moron's passing. "Talons pushed out the Cavern Dogs last night in a blitz, and he apparently tried to rob a gun-store up on Fumi to get some cash on his way out. The squint running the place gunned him down in the street."

"Idiot," Dad guffawed, along with the rest of us. "Who leads the Dogs now? Chang?"

Rashid shrugged, "If anybody can be said to be leading those whoresons."

"Get a message to her," Dad mused quietly. "Offer her a place here for her and her people."

Everyone shifted uncomfortably, darting nervous glances at one another.

" _What_ place exactly is that, _Haty'a_?" Rashid asked warily, using my dad's title to mask doubt and suspicion.

"We can always use more rifles on the Cala Runs," Dad shrugged. "And the Warrens are mostly empty anyway, except for the squatters: mostly squints. If they can clear them out, they set up shop there."

The tension in the room relaxed as the Arrow commanders realized that the Cavern Dogs were not being given any of _their_ territory. The migraine-inducing reports droned on and on, confirming what everyone in the room already knew: The Arrows of Knesset were strong in Little Egypt, but nowhere else on Doru. Nobody was going without, but we were dealing enough just drugs and slaves to keep all of our people fed, housed, and equipped, and that was pretty much it.

"Now with business out of the way, time for good news," my dad said finally. "Nasser is coming home."

Everyone in the room bolted upright. _Pharaoh_ Nasser Emrys, Mentu's brother, was the leader and founder of the Blood Arrows, of whom the Arrows of Knesset were a sub-gang. Almost a full cycle ago, he had departed for the Pilgrimage to Earth, to worship at the Great Pyramids of Giza. If O'Shea was respected for visiting Earth, this pilgrimage would catapult Uncle Nasser into near-godhood for the religious die-hards in this little Proto-Egyptian cult.

Which, I supposed, was the entire point of him going in the first place. The fact that he lefthis gay lover Abdul Abbas in command of the Blood Arrows and not Father, his own flesh and blood, was a telling indicator that the relationship between the two brothers was probably more fucked than Ptolemy's and mine.

I mean, Ptolemy was a fucking asshole, but he was still my brother. I didn't think dad and Uncle even considered themselves related anymore, even if they were from the same parents.

"He will arrive at the docks in three shifts' time," Dad stated, and then his gaze turned to Ptolemy and myself. " _You two_ will be there with a full honor-guard to greet him, as benefits our _Pharaoh_."

Ptolemy bowed low at our father's words. I opted to shrug and nod non-committedly at my dad.

"Is that all?" I asked. When no one answered with a negative, I stood to my feet, grabbing my bag.

"Yes, we'd hate to get in the way of your _whoring_ and binging," my half-brother muttered, following me out of the room. "If you miss our _Pharaoh's_ arrival, Father will be…"

"Our 'beloved _Pharaoh_ ' is a small-time gangster, Tol," I snapped. "Not a god, or a king, whatever he makes his title out to be."

"He will not thank you for pointing that out."

"I don't give a damn," I shrugged. "If you want to bend over backwards to please Father and Uncle Nasser, and all so _you_ can be the sad little king of this sad little hill one day, you're welcome to it. Me? I just want _off_ this miserable rock."

"Yes, what happened to that _dream_ of running off and joining the Blue Suns?" Ptolemy snarked.

That was a low blow, but not untrue. I had saved up my share of jobs for two cycles, planning on buying myself some decent armor and weapons, and then joining the private military corporation in the hopes of getting off Omega. That of course was _before_ they had gone to hell, with literally everyone in the galaxy going after them. And Ptolemy was determined to remind me of my nearly-fatal choice until my dying day, it seemed.

"You could carve out a future for yourself _here_ , if you would only apply yourself," he continued, shifting to his 'I'm-the-older-brother-so-I-know-shit' tone. "Father would give you more responsibilities if only you would _stop_ antagonizing him at every turn."

"Sounds like an excellent argument to keep on doing just that," I retorted. "You're the one who wants responsibility."

Ptolemy's eyes narrowed, and he stepped in front of me now to block my path.

"One of these days, you're going to have to grow up, little brother."

I shoved past him without answering, heading towards the bar.

"Tyco!" I called out, holding up my recently-acquired bottle of Serrice Ice Brandy, "Interested in this beauty, perhaps?"

The obese bartender smiled as I approached, but then his face grew calculating as he raised an eyebrow.

"Anybody can fill a Serrice bottle with their own swill," he stated evenly.

I grabbed my chest in mock hurt and put on my best shocked face.

"I'm wounded, _wounded_ I tell you, that you would even think such a thing of one of your best friends!" I groaned. I reached over and undid the top of the bottle, putting a finger over the top of the bottle as I turned it on it side to get a splash of the liquid on my finger, which I then rubbed on the back of his outstretched hand.

"Here," I crooned, "Take a whiff of this, and your nose and tongue will curse you for ever touching another liquor."

The man gave the dab of liquid a preemptive sniff, and then his eyes went wide. Whatever the man's other faults (which were many) he had a good nose for booze.

"Where in Set's name…?" he asked breathlessly, now staring at the bottle with a lustful expression.

I now moved the bottle away from the massive hand that groped clumsily.

"Ahh, now," I waggled my finger, "The story is extra. The bottle… well, I'd say that was worth… what, eight hundred credits?"

Carefully-calculated outrage appeared on the barkeep's face.

"On the _karking_ Citadel, maybe," he huffed, and waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. " _Maybe_ I'd give you ninety-five for it. And that's just because I like you."

I grinned broadly.

 _And let the haggling begin…_

That particular round of haggling went better for me than the one with Powell, mostly on account that I had more of an opportunity to walk away from the deal. The fat fuck wanted the bottle, and we both knew he was going to pay through the nose rather than see it walk out his front door. We eventually settled, and I threw the duffle bag of other miscellaneous alcohols in, sight unseen. Seven hundred credits and a bottle of Noveria Prime richer, I exited the club and made my way down the street.

My destination was a brightly-lit establishment with the emblem of an old-fashioned hourglass tumbling and turning. Stepping inside, the din and smell of the street vanished, replaced by rhythmic pounding of tribal-drums and a hint of lavender in the air.

"Hello, Auntie," I called out.

The dark-skinned, ample-bosomed woman who turned at my call and flashed a smile wasn't my real aunt, of course, but that was what everyone called her in Little Egypt. People told me that she and my dad had been an item before I was even born, but I had never pressed for details on my dad's sexual history, or hers. She had a reputation of taking care of her girls, and there were stories passed around the gossip wheel of the horrors suffered by those who mistreated them. Those stories, however, were notably less horrific than the fates of those who tried to cheat her out of her due, or who came up light when the prescribed time ran out.

Whatever the truth of the rumors, it could not be denied that Auntie ran the Sands of Time brothel like fine-oiled machine.

 _Much better than my father runs this gang_ , I noted with no small degree of satisfaction.

"Hale up, Khentu, my lovely, wah'gwaan?"

"Eire ting Iyree, Auntie," I replied in the same sing-song accent, enjoying a hug and a kiss on the cheek from the older woman. Then she stepped back and cast a critical eye over me from head to toe.

" _Obeah_ , child, when you eat last?"

I laughed at her concern and gave her another peck on the check.

"Some food would be welcome, Auntie. Usual fare is fine, nothing fancy."

"Kiss me back side, Khentu Emrys, as if there be anything but best here," she patted my cheek in a mock slap.

"Had a good day today, Auntie," I stated, flashing the chits from Tyco. "I'll take a room, a meal… and some company would not go amiss."

Auntie flashed a hand over the chits, checking their value with a practiced and discerning eye. Then the smile came again, and she clapped her hands twice. Two girls, both of them human, materialized from seemingly thin air, their beaded dresses leaving little to the imagination. I winked and grinned back at her, and then threw an arm around each of them, moving down the narrow hallway to one of the many apartments the building housed.

Welcome to fucking Omega.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Hello once again, everyone! Once again, we find ourselves in the universe of Mass Effect! Katkiller-V is kind enough to be my beta-reader/editor, and to let us play in his Another Realm universe. If you haven't read his stories, I can highly recommend them! **

**If you have read them, this story is set right as Kean and Co. come to Omega in Another Realm: Ronin. The story will run parallel to the main AR story, but being a small gang, we are very unlikely to meet any of the Silver Blades, other than maybe small cameos. **

**Please leave your reviews/comments/suggestions/constructive criticisms!**

 **ROCK ON, EVERYBODY! EE-RAH!**

 **Tusken1602**


	2. Act 1: Let's Have A Riot

**Omega's Child**

 _(Khentu Emrys)_

 **Location: Sands of Time Brothel, Doru District, Omega**

* * *

"Khentu. Get. Up." A boot nudged my shoulder to emphasize each word and repetition of the phrase.

"Leave me alone," I groaned. Or at least, I thought I did. The sound that reached my ears was not so articulate as I would have liked, but served to convey the message well enough.

The boot now kicked, hard, and I rolled on my side with a groan of pain, my left hand going to the small of my back.

That drew a scoffing sound from the man kicking me, the sound so familiar that I managed to recognize my brother. "Your pistol is on the other side of the room, _dumbass_."

"Fuck off, Tol." I managed to sound more alive that time, even as I tried to bat at his ankles.

"Believe me, I don't want to be here anymore than you want me to, but Father gave orders." There was a flicker, then the lights, dim as they were, blazed into the recesses of my skull. I squeezed my eyes shut and brought my palms over them to try and calm the massive drums pounding in my head.

 _Something_ stuck me in the neck, and the pounding in my head eased somewhat. It still took a minute or two, but I managed to lower my hands, seeing Ptolemy standing over me, stim-gun in hand from where he had stuck me.

"Come on," he said, replacing it on his belt. "Get dressed. We've got to be at the docks in an hour. I brought your armor."

Still reeling from the effects of the past night's alcohol mingling with the stims coursing through my system, I glanced over to see my armor case was indeed lying in the middle of the room.

"How did you…?"

The _slightest_ of grins crossed my half-brother's face. "I've been breaking into your locker since I was eleven, little brother. Now _move your ass_ : I'm not your bloody nursemaid, or your dealer either, for that matter."

"Just my babysitter, apparently," I snarked back, even as I attempted to roll to my feet, somewhat unsuccessfully, leaving me sitting on my bed and trying not to groan even more.

Ptolemy only snorted in reply before turning and leaving the room. As he opened the door to the small chamber, two figures, a Batarian male and a pale Human female, came in and began unpacking my armor, both of them heavily collared. Ordinarily, I would have resented being dressed by my brother's slaves, but I honestly felt like shit, and didn't have the motivation to object.

"The stims will wear off quickly, young master, so you'd best drink this," the young woman said, handing me a bottle. "Only cure for the hangover you're going to have, I'm afraid: hydration."

"What have I told you about calling me that, Tess?" I replied, in-between swigs of the water. "My name is Ken, or Khentu if you're feeling formal."

"Um… yes, master…. Khentu," Tess answered, coloring hotly. "Sorry."

I waved a hand to cut off any more apologies, while the Batarian male began tugging a shirt over my head.

"I've got it, Jaye," I insisted.

The Batarian's head made a bow, and he stepped back wordlessly to help Tess unpack my armor. But that was no surprise: someone in his past apparently attempted to slit his throat, which left the Batarian as damaged goods in the eyes of most slave dealers. I was positive that Ptolemy thought purchasing him had been a grand _Humane_ gesture on his part.

After a few moments, I was decent and the two slaves began strapping me into my armor. It wasn't fancy by any means: I had collected it piece by piece over the years, once I had finally stopped growing. The practiced hands that moved the ceramic plates into place showed that the pair were probably used to dressing my brother, but I couldn't complain right now. Or at least, I was too tired to do so.

With an effort, the two slaves pulled me to my feet, and my helmet was placed under my arm. I nodded my thanks, and moved towards the door. The fact that the room had stopped swaying meant the stims were really kicking in now, I supposed, and I hoped that the three or so bottles of water Tessa had forced down me would help to stave off the massive hangover I knew I had coming.

Exiting the room, Ptolemy straightened from where he had been leaning against the wall. His armor was lighter than mine, but it more or less matched. What's more, it had been polished to almost a mirror shine, and then painted in reflective gold with blood-red accents. He gave me a once-over, eventually shrugging in acceptance.

"Acceptable, I suppose," he stated disapprovingly. "You are the son of the _Haty-a_ of the Arrows of Knesset. Your armor makes you look like a junkyard mercenary."

"My armor doesn't draw any attention to itself in a firefight," I retorted. I was _so_ not in the mood for his condescending bullshit. "Your armor says, 'I'm the asshole in charge, shoot me first.'"

Ptolemy said nothing, but spun on his heel, making his way towards the exit. I took a step to follow him… and ran smack into a biotic barrier.

" _Fucking hell_ Tol! Fucking petty! Even for you!" I swore as I stumbled into the wall. The pounding in my head was too much for me to tell if the asshole was chuckling or not, but I chose to believe he was. Stumbling outside, there was my brother's squad, dressed in enough spit and polish for a fucking parade ground.

This was Omega, for fuck's sake. Who the hell cared?

The eight of us loaded into a truck, which lifted off in the direction of the docks. Ptolemy turned around to face the rest of us in the back.

"Helmets on," he called. "Watch each others backs."

"No fucking kidding, _General Ptolemy_ ," I grumbled into my helmet, and had the satisfaction of seeing several of the squad grin at my brother's expense before disappearing into their own helmets.

The ride up to the docks was uneventful, but that was not the part we were worried about, necessarily. The Arrows were not very popular outside of our neighborhood of Little Egypt, and with the True Son assholes wreaking havoc in Tuhi and the Lowers, Humans in general were not exactly the most popular species on the station. That sentiment was only confirmed as we made our way down from the landing pads to the docking station. The populace, mostly Batarians and Turians, shot hateful looks our way, or made overt signs to ward off evil in their respective religions.

"Easy…" Ptolemy hissed over the private comms, guessing at the Arrows' reactions. "We're here to provide an honor guard, not to demand respect from Outsider trash."

"As long as they don't start throwing shit," one of the Arrows growled, a younger kid who still did most of his thinking with his dick, by the sound of it.

"We're not here to incite a riot," one of the older veterans growled back at him.

"Ummm…. Somebody want to tell _them_ that?" I asked, gesturing to the scene we had just walked in on.

A _large_ crowd disproportionally made up of Humans was gathered in the square in front of us, all of them facing a group of men standing on what appeared to be a makeshift platform. Others were standing and holding placards. More were holding weapons of horrifying condition and design.

"Hmmm… 'Fuck Aliens,'" I read one of the nearby placards. "Creative, this lot. Well-read and with expansive vocabularies, most likely."

"We should turn around, Boss," the older veteran who had spoke earlier stated.

"This is the most direct route to the Docks," Ptolemy replied, but I could hear the reluctance in his voice. "If we go around, we run the risk of missing the _Pharaoh_ 's arrival altogether, thanks to _someone's_ late start."

The back of my neck burned at the less-than-subtle reference to yours truly, and the grip on my pistol tightened.

"We go through," Ptolemy continued, resolute determination coming into his voice. "Keep to the outskirts of these fools. We don't want anyone to think we're actually _with them_ , for Ra's sake."

Grunts of agreement went around, and we set forward. For their part, the hangers-on of the assembled mob parted in front of such well-armed passers-by. But our drawing closer also meant we could now hear what the Human standing on the platform was now shouting.

"Asari don't care about any other species!" he was ranting, white flecks of spittle at the corners of his mouth. "They are the whores who are running the rest of the galaxy into the _karking_ ground!"

A murmur of general agreement ran through the crowd. There were plenty of Batarians and even Turians who didn't much care for the blue-skinned aliens, I supposed.

Taking advantage of the crowd's reaction, another asshole jumped up next to his friend.

"What need have they of any planet other than Thessia?"

"None!" several of the crowd shouted back.

"What _business_ do they have _running_ any other planet than Thessia?"

" _None_!" came more shouts.

"I say the blue-skins should go back to their whore planet, where they can fuck each other into extinction!"

The shouts now were slightly _less_ than enthusiastic than they might have been. The idiot has crossed a line. Before they were just bitching at the aliens in charge, which anybody could get behind. Now it sounded like they were calling for Aria's removal, and the wiser members of the crowd were now pushing to get away from the idiot.

Undaunted, or perhaps too truly idiotic to notice the shift, the second idiot started pumping his fist up in the air, leading his cronies and the more fanatic of the assembled crowd in a chant:

"Fuck the whores! Fuck the whores!"

 _Truly creative, this bunch._

"FUCK THE WHORES! FUCK THE WHORES! Fuck the – "

A shot rang out, and the second idiot went down like a rag doll. We spun towards the sound, guns in hand. An Asari lowered what appeared to be a heavily-modified Viper, though only so that she could aim at the crowd in general.

"Any more of you apes have a catchy slogan?" she called out. Several black-armored Asari were walking into the square behind her now, their armor openly bearing the sigil of Aria T'Loak.

" _Fucking hell."_ Ptolemy's oath was less about seeing armed Asari, and more concerned with the fact that at that precise moment, our little group was squarely in the middle between them and the gathered mob.

The first Human speaker looked from his friend's lifeless body to the Asari's rifle, and back and forth a couple of times. And then decided to do something _truly_ stupid.

"Take 'em!" he screeched, pulling a shotgun from the small of his back. "Strike for the True Sons of the Galaxy!"

The die-hards around him surged forward, along with a disturbing percentage of the crowd, most of whom I guessed were more motivated by the prospects of robbing the Asari corpses of their weapons and gear than any incendiary speeches on the Human's part.

And there we were, caught in the middle, in a classic example of "Wrong place, Wrong time."

Ptolemy spun towards the rioters, dropping to a knee and throwing a biotic blast into the mass of bodies surging towards us. Everyone on that side of our party also dropped to their knee, allowing the rest of us to fire over their heads. Behind us, the Asari cut loose with a torrent of gunfire and biotic power that began to turn Human beings into bloody confetti.

I almost breathed a sigh of relief as I squeezed my trigger. I was half-worried for a second that Tol was going to choose _this_ moment to choose "Honor" or "Race" over practicality. And I _so_ did _not_ want to start a direct conflict with Aria's people that day.

On the upside, the adrenaline coursing through my body was doing _wonders_ for my throbbing headache.

"Pick your targets! Don't let them overheat you!" Ptolemy was shouting now, mostly at the young kid firing his submachine gun at full-auto into the oncoming crowd.

"'WARE LEFT! 'WARE LEFT!" someone shouted. I spun that direction just in time to meet a skinny kid's tackle at my waist. A group of the idiots had charged us from the side alley in support of their comrades in the square. I muttered an oath as I used the kid's momentum against him, rolling backwards to try and throw him off me. Annoyingly, his lack of armor worked to his advantage, and we ended the roll with his knee pressing down on my chest.

"Traitor!" the kid screeched, and a blade slammed against my breastplate. The rusty kitchen knife _snapped_ at the handle, and the kid stared at his broken weapon, shocked somehow that the blade was unable to penetrate armor. I sent a fist into his jaw, and felt bone yield beneath my studded gloves. I brought my pistol up and sent two rounds into his face before he could get up.

"Asshole," I muttered, cursing every second it was taking me to regain my feet.

Suddenly, there was a _whistle a_ nd an unmistakable _crack_ of a nullifier grenade going off. Even with my helmet on, my ears popped, and I swiveled my head to find the source of the explosion.

 _Who the_ _fuck_ _could afford to waste one of those on a fucking_ _street-riot?_

I caught sight of a Turian in rags on top the Asari sniper, slashing down at the temporarily-stunned woman. I fired twice, aiming for center mass. The Turian stiffened and went over, while the Asari let out a curse as she scrambled to her feet, a pistol of her own in hand. Looking left, and then right, she locked eye contact with me as I impatiently waited for my gun to cool a bit. Surprise and disbelief took turns on her face, followed by cool detached appraisal of the gang markings on my breastplate and shoulders. She nodded once in my direction, terse and concise in her motions.

 _You're welcome, I guess_.

Before I could return the nod, the _bang-hiss_ of a needler pistol sounded. Ptolemy's sidearm was meant to corral rioting slaves, but it still suited this scenario just fine. Tiny shards of metal blew through unarmored bodies like tissue paper. Those closest to my pissed-off biotic brother died instantly, reduced to more or less ribbons of meat. Those farther away were not so lucky, screeching in agony as they fell clutching at the razor-blades embedded in torsos and arms. Ptolemy cycled through all three barrels of his weapon, which left the open square a writhing mass of dead, dying, and those who wished that they were.

As quickly as the fight had begun, it was over. Ptolemy's armor was slick with blood, none of it his: the macabre side-effect of using that particular weapon. He moved quickly to one of our people who was clutching a hand to his thigh. Another Arrow was already kneeling over him, applying a Med-Patch.

"You have my thanks, Arrow." I turned to see the Asari sniper folding her weapon over her shoulder, still giving me a strange look. I reached up to undo my chin strap and pull the helmet off.

"Quite welcome," I answered. "After all, 'The Tide pulls everybody,' right?"

She stood there for a moment, and then blinked, surprised that a Human knew the Asari phrase, I thought. Then she snorted, and I realized that my broken Thessian had probably butchered the phrase on her translator.

"Khentu!" Ptolemy was helping our wounded man stand. "We must be about our business."

I nodded and sighed before replacing my helmet and turning back to the blue alien.

"Fucking Omega, am I right?"

She grinned again. "Fucking Omega. If you ever find yourself at Afterlife, I owe you a drink. Ask for Teyla."

I gave her a nod and moved to join the rest of my team. Our only wounded man had sustained a relatively-minor graze to the thigh. With the med-patch and a handful of painkillers, we were ready to move.

Looking around, I could see figures already darting forward to loot the dead of whatever few possessions they had on them. On the ground just in front of me was the idiot who had started all of this mess, missing a portion of his head and left ear. I bent over and picked up the sawed-off shotgun he had wielded, testing the weight in my hands. It a bit unwieldy, the barrel and stock having been chopped down to get rid of weight, and there was a hint of rust on the weapon.

"Not bad," I mused aloud, folding my pistol to fit in the hip holster, and attaching my latest weapon to the magnetic plate on the small of my back.

If people had been slow to get out of our way before, the sight of eight blood-spattered armored figures coming down the street was enough to make even the bravest souls pause to allow us by.

The docks on the Doru District were crowded with the usual riffraff: workers loading and unloading cargo of every variety, whores of every sex and species prostituting themselves to the highest bidder, and beggars and pickpockets plying their own special trade as well. We moved down the docks, hoping the delay hadn't cost us too much time.

We knew we were in the right place when we saw the group of red-armored figures, all with a golden arrow on their breastplates, the mirror opposite of Ptolemy's. And at the head of the party was...

"Tolley! Khenny!"

Tol drew himself up proudly, and reached up to remove his helmet, nodding formally as he did. "Abdul."

Abdul Abbas was almost comically skinny at a little over hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet. That, coupled with the heavy purple eyeshadow, black eyeliner, and bright red lipstick, had caused many to underestimate the man, or try to take advantage of him. Those individuals were mostly dead, now, with knives shoved under their sternums. The man was ruthlessly focused, and a sound administrator to boot. Those traits were probably why he was put over Father or any of the other Arrows in our Pharaoh's absence.

The little man began to come towards us with arms outstretched, but them seemed to just notice the state of our armor and recoiled, nose crinkling in distaste.

"You lot look like you've just waded through a _meat grinder_ ," he exclaimed, producing an oversized fan to cover the lower half of his face. "None of that _awful_ blood is yours, I hope?"

"Trouble at the Markets," I shrugged. "Some True Son recruiters thought it was a good day to incite a riot."

"Ugh, those _people_ ," Abdul rolled his eyes dramatically. "Well, thanks the gods you two boys came through unharmed. I don't know what I would have done with myself if either of you had been injured."

"It was no great test of arms," Ptolemy shrugged dismissively.

"Not for a great, big, strapping brute like yourself, I bet it wasn't," Abdul batted his eyelashes flirtatiously, and then turned to gesture towards the still-empty docking bay. "Ahh, boys, it's a great occasion, no?"

"We do rejoice at our Pharaoh's return, yes," Ptolemy delivered in a tone that was distinctly removed from 'rejoicing'. Abdul closed the fan with a slap and delivered a playful whack to Ptolemy's forehead.

"Oh, Tol, I've told you before," he admonished, grinning broadly, "You've got to stop being so damn serious and solemn all the time, or your face is liable to stay that way."

He flitted over to place himself between Tol and me. "Why can't you be more like your brother?" he continued, stroking the back of my head with the folded fan. "I know _he's_ one who knows how to have a good time."

I grinned at Ptolemy's irritation. After many years as our uncle's partner/lover, we took the man's quirks and eccentricities in stride, me probably more so than him. Abdul leaned over to deliver a theatrical whisper into my brother's ear:

"And besides: all this pent-up sexual frustration you've got going on is very bad for the little man downstairs..."

He gestured suggestively to further emphasize exactly what "little man" he was referring to. Ptolemy's face went from annoyed to slightly mortified, and he attempted to stutter back some kind of reply. Twice. I meanwhile was biting the inside of my cheek to keep from bursting into laughter, which I was sure every ganger around us was doing as well. Fortunately for him, it was at that moment that the shuttle came down to land at the platform in front of us.

As stupidly expensive as it was to dock a ship _directly_ , most captains chose to wait in a steady orbit around Omega and ferry their goods or passengers to the station. The shuttle that was locking into place was an older Batarian model, but well cared-for and retrofitted, by the looks of things.

We were expecting the usual flood of immigrants to come streaming out of the shuttle: the lawless, the refugees, the downtrodden and unwashed masses. But when the doors opened, several _well-armored_ figures exited the shuttle. Even the best-equipped Blood Arrows on the dock were suddenly put to shame at the comparison. Everyone in our party took a small step backwards, aside from Abdul, weapons gripped nervously. But then the armored figures parted, and a familiar face appeared.

I say 'face,' because that was the only thing that was familiar. When Uncle Nasser had departed for this Pilgrimage, he had been dressed in a typical Omega fashion: heavy coat, with a nondescript pair of dungarees beneath. The man walking towards us had Uncle Nasser's face, sure enough, but he was dressed in an exquisite tuxedo that looked like it wouldn't have been out of place on the Citadel.

Abdul let out a small gasp and stepped forward slowly to meet him. The pair embraced warmly, and pressed their foreheads together for a moment. The rest of us looked pointedly away: this was their reunion, and was not meant for anyone else to witness. After a few whispered sentences to one another, Abdul stepped aside, eyes glistening, and fell into step behind our _Pharaoh_.

"Gideon! How are you, you bastard?" The various comrades and old friends of our uncle stepped forward, some to a warm embrace, others to firm handshakes. Then his eye turned to our group, and he walked our direction, arms outstretched.

"Ptolemy!" he boomed out, "Khentu! Well met, my nephews!"

The two of us made the Arrow salute, bringing the back of the hand to our foreheads. Nasser paused, seeing the blood and brain spatters covering our armor.

"Trouble?" he asked, a hint of seriousness coming into his tone.

"These two young lions just fought their way through a mob to see your arrival, _Pharaoh_ ," Abdul cut in, before either of us could answer. "You would have been proud of them."

Nasser nodded, and turned back to us.

"I have always been proud of the pair of you," he grinned, and waved the two of us closer. "Your father is not here?"

"He sends his regrets, sir," Ptolemy answered, a little too quickly, "Unavoidable business called him aw…"

"Yes, yes, more of the same," Nasser waved his hand dismissively. "To be honest, I'd have been more surprised if he _had_ been here."

"Judging by the suit and the bodyguards, I'd say the trip went well?" I asked, nodding at the strangers still standing at attention on the loading dock.

"Better than well, boy," Uncle Nasser answered, and a fierce light came into his eyes. " _Much_ better. There is so much to discuss!"

He turned his head to look around at our present surroundings.

"I would love to stand here all day with you, but I think everyone would prefer me to tell the tale once, and be done with it," he stated finally. "Go back to my brother, and tell him that I need him and all the Knesset commanders to meet me _tonight_ at Thoth. And yourselves, of course, if he hasn't been intelligent enough to _make_ you commanders in my absence."

"We will attend you there, Pharaoh," Ptolemy answered, shooting me a look. Neither of us could remember the last time Uncle Nasser had summoned Father to a meeting. Normally the pair of the existed in blissful separation, ignoring the others existence.

"Tell your father this," Uncle Nasser was continuing, "It's a new day for the Arrows, my boys. A new day. Starting today, the old order will fall. And Egypt will rise."

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **So Pharaoh Nasser returns, with strange new companions, and a strange new suit, and new plans to match. How will this affect the Blood Arrows, and the recently-disrupted balance of power on Omega? Keep reading to find out!**

 **All reviews/comments/suggestions/constructive criticisms are welcome!**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

BJ Hanssen - Thanks! I appreciate that! While I obviously enjoy Beacon's Effect, I always enjoy playing in the Mass Effect sandbox that Katkiller-V has created.

seabo76 - We'll be exploring the full ramifications of building a society on the example of Ancient Egypt: both the good and the bad.

Thanks for reading and reviewing my friends! ROCK ON!

Tusken1602


	3. Act 1: Arrows Council

**Omega's Child**

 _(Khentu Emrys)_

 **Location:** Little Egypt, Doru District, Omega

* * *

'Thoth' was the name Uncle Nasser had given to the one-time apartment complex, now his headquarters for the Blood Arrows. It looked like what it had once been, a towering, rectangular structure with no class whatsoever, even compared to the battered buildings around it.

My father seemed to be in a sour mood as he led the same Arrows of Knesset who had gathered at the Pyramid just the night before. The Blood Arrows were scrambling to their feet and making their salutes as we passed. More than a few of them were staring incredulously at my father, who hadn't stepped foot in his brother's territory for…. _Horus_ , I couldn't remember how long ago that had happened. Years, at least.

Two slaves came to their feet and pushed open the massive doors leading to the courtyard.

"The AK's, _Pharaoh!_ " A robed servant within called out, only to earn the cold stare from my Father.

"The… the Arrows of Knesset!" He stammered the correction, giving our branch of the Blood Arrows our full name. He then went to both knees, prostrating himself as flat as he could to avert my father's glare of displeasure. As we entered, a large crowd had already assembled, split into three groups that I instantly recognized:

Abdul and the rest of the main Blood Arrow commanders were in the same armor and dress as before, but beside them, the black-robed priests were obviously the Sand Jackals, with _Haty-a_ Gideon Avram at their head. The Proto-Egyptian cult that was the common denominator between all the sub-gangs of the Blood Arrows had their most fanatical followers in the Jackals. Most of the Arrows were a lot like me, I suspected: going through the motions of the religion and accepting it for the most part as a unifying and necessary part of the gang's culture and history.

Avram and the rest of the Jackals, by contrast, _genuinely_ believed that their souls were destined to be gathered by Anubis when they died, and then weighed before Osiris and the Devourer before passing to the Under-verse. Almost every square inch of their bodies was tattooed with _ankhs_ and other religious symbols, to ward off evil and defend the bearer in battle.

Needless to say, nearly everyone else in the Arrows had as little interaction with Jackals as possible.

The second group were all naked to the waist, except for beaded necklaces and body paint. The effect was obviously more striking for the female members than the males, but the Pit Vipers had earned their fearsome reputation by generally being just batshit insane. Each of them wore heavy necklaces made of shards of metal or bone, trophies of kills and victories in battle. Their _Haty-a,_ a scarred old warrior named Bomazi, strode forward to take Father's arm in his own and the two pressed their foreheads together, their arrow-shaped tattoos (the only thing the various groups all had in common) touching in greeting.

"Ahh! _Now_ we can truly say to have gathered the most noble warriors of this station!"

Father's eye blinked slowly, and I could see him draw a deep breath before he turned around to face our Pharaoh. Gone was the tuxedo from before. Now Uncle Nasser was dressed as any resident of Omega: Military cargo pants were accentuated with a leather vest, over which a thick coat was worn. All of it was new and spotless, however, which still made him stand out when put next to a figure like our father. Nasser Emrys and Mentu Emrys squared off with one another, and then my father nodded, slowly.

"Amun-Ra's light shine on the Pharaoh, and illuminate his path to our victory," he stated in a monotone voice, clasping his hands together and bowing _slightly_ at the waist. Uncle Nasser stepped forward and placed his hands over Father's.

"And may those paths lead you to fertile pastures, and good homes and futures for your children, and your children's children," he answered with the ceremonial reply. "Welcome… brother."

 _That_ surprised Mentu, and I rarely saw my father surprised or taken off-guard. But he managed a nod and stepped back into the circle that had now formed around Nasser.

"Brothers, sisters… my children," Nasser began, his arms outstretched, "I have seen the future… and it is ours."

A man I didn't recognize, but wearing the spotlessly-white armor we had seen from the docks earlier, stepped forward and placed a small orb on a pedestal set up in the courtyard. The orb blinked twice, and then suddenly shone with a brilliant light. All around us was suddenly the projection of…

Of…

" _Amun-Ra_ …" My father whispered in awe, and he wasn't the only one.

It was a three-dimensional projection, not dissimilar to ones I had seen in some of the brothels or bars up on the Afterlife district, usually projecting things like waterfalls, or trees. This, on the other hand, was…

The three great pyramids of Giza rose in front of us, projected in startling clarity. Most of the Jackals were on their knees at the sacred sight, murmurs prayers of thanks to Amun-Ra. Above us, crystal-clear blue skies appeared, unobstructed by buildings. The overall effect was… _disquieting_ , really. For many of the younger Humans gathered, myself included, this was the first time any of us had ever _seen_ a sky, even a fake one.

I, and most of the rest, quickly lowered our gazes rather than stare into that odd sight.

"I stood before the Sacred Pyramids," Nasser went on, "Beneath the light and warmth of Amun-Ra _himself_ , my children, not the cold and unfeeling light of Sahrabarik. And it was there that I was granted a vision… in the light of the Sun – the rise of New Egypt has begun."

The Jackals all murmured in awe and wonder, while Father and Bomazi shared a look whose doubtful objectivity did not escape me.

"For too long, the children of the Arrow have been spat upon, tread upon, and held down by those who dare to think themselves our betters. Now, _now more_!" An uneasy murmur ran through the crowd as a whole as heads nodded in understanding of where Uncle was going with this: This was a speech calling for war. "We will no longer cower in the shadows, accepting the scraps of others. We will step into the light of Amun-Ra, and _take_ the territory of the faithless Outsiders for ourselves!"

"Your Pardon, _Great Pharaoh_?" Father boomed oved the eager shouts from some of the younger members of the circle. These were quickly hushed and all eyes turned to Mentu.

"We are grateful to Amun-Ra for granting this vision unto you, Pharaoh," he stated evenly. "But you speak as though the Outsiders' territory was ours for the wishing of it, or that we have somehow been idle during the year _you have been away…_ "

Growls of agreement came from largely the Vipers and the AK's.

"Nothing of the sort," Nasser reassured quickly. "Abdul has spent these few hours telling me of the mighty deeds and great battles you have fought during my _holy pilgrimage_."

The last few words were directed at my father, who merely nodded, once, before replying.

"Nevertheless, a true war is something we are ill-prepared for," he stated slowly. "The Brotherhood and the Talons are forcing the True Sons out of Tuhi, gathering strength and territory unto themselves. The Consortium has used their gains from the Blue Suns War to secure a firm alliance with the Black Queen herself. The Eclipse…"

Father left the laughable notion of our small gang taking on the Eclipse enclave on Doru unspoken.

"We are as you see us," He continued, "Strong here within Little Egypt, within our holy enclave, but we are too few and too weak to secure new territory."

"An _army_ following the will of _Amun-Ra cannot_ be defeated!" Avram rasped, rising from his knees. "What are numbers compared to the blessing and presence of the Sun God?"

"And how many battalions does the Sun God command?" Mentu retorted sarcastically, Ptolemy and I both covering snorts and grins.

 _That_ got the Jackals on their feet, as Avram hissed _"Blasphemy",_ and a curved dagger appeared in his hand. The AK's and Vipers also tensed now and weapons were grasped, while my brother and I both shifted to cover Father's sides.

" _Enough_!" Uncle Nasser stepped forward to place himself directly between Father and Avram, glaring at both disapprovingly. "We will not fight amongst ourselves, not now, not when our appointed time has been set by the gods."

Both of his subordinates shifted uncomfortably before bowing their heads in submission to their Pharaoh, weapons sliding back into sheaths as everyone settled back down.

Nasser waited a few moments before going on, "I am not such a _fool_ as to believe that my _presence_ alone will cause our enemies to turn tail and run, nor would I return from such a holy Pilgrimage empty-handed, my children."

Abdul, now wearing a mischievous grin, clapped his hands three times, the sound echoing against the concrete walls of the courtyard. Several pairs of slaves appeared, each carrying a black case between them. The men parted to let them through, and the crates were stacked in a neat line.

Nasser's grin could have matched a Vorcha's as he threw open the first crate.

Gasps went around the circle, almost to match the sight of the projector. For here at least, was a sight just as sacred on Omega, and infinitely more practical.

"Elkoss Combine Model-8 Avenger Assault Rifle," The white armored stranger spoke up, picking up one of the weapons. "Mark 1 model."

He pulled on the charger handle, and a red light illuminated the weapons ominously.

"Can be fired semi-automatically, with 34 consecutive shots before overheating," he continued. "Or full-auto with considerably less."

"How many of these weapons have you secured?" Father asked Nasser, and I could see a thousand gears turning in his mind. But it was the stranger who answered.

"By the end of the week, we will have three hundred cases on-station, with five rifles per case."

Ptolemy and I met each other's gaze as a murmur of astonishment ran through the group. That was enough to put a rifle in the hands of every Blood Arrow in Little Egypt, and _then_ some. Fifteen hundred well-armed fighters didn't just represent a much-needed boost to our gang: it represented a power shift for the entire District.

"How are these weapons being brought onto the station, _without_ the attention of T'Loak?" Mentu asked, still pointedly _not_ addressing the cocky stranger.

"We have our ways," the white-armored man answered.

"Is he your _tongue_ now, Pharaoh?" Father hissed angrily.

"Warriors," Nasser said gently, coming to place a hand on the man's shoulder. "Meet Jacob Orr, the newest _Hyksos_ of the Blood Arrows."

Father's brow darkened, and his wasn't the only one. A _Hyksos_ was only one rank beneath a _Haty-a_ in the Arrows. An offworld stranger being promoted over the heads of veteran members was… unprecedented, to say the least.

"If he is truly an Arrow, where is his mark?" Someone in the crowd asked.

Jacob Orr merely reached a hand up to brush back his black hair from his forehead, revealing that in fact a white arrow tattoo spanned the bridge of his nose and ran up along his forehead.

"And what great Deed did Mister Orr do to earn his mark?" Bomazi asked darkly.

"You first complain that he has _no_ mark, and now you complain that he _has_ one, brothers?" Nasser chuckled. "Make up your minds, at least."

"We are no _True Son_ bastards, to let anyone in off the streets," Father answered, "If he would bear our mark and claim our brotherhood, we would hear his Deed."

Nasser looked as he would object again, but Jacob Orr held up a hand.

"It's alright, Pharaoh," he stated, and the word was strange in his accent, with the heavy 'r' sound almost turning the word into Far-row. "I bring not only these rifles to the Blood Arrows, but forty of my fellow Terrans will be smuggling them onto the station, along with other supplies to strengthen Amun-Ra's children."

"Over the next several weeks," Nasser continued. "Orr and his men will be passing out these new rifles, and training you and your warriors in their use and care. There are enough rifles here today for _everyone_ present."

People were already clambering forward towards the cases now, opening them and passing out the shiny new weapons eagerly. Someone handed me one, and I stepped out of the press to examine the new weapon. My main source of wonder was how _light_ it was: even with the dual rail system, it weighed almost nothing at all, certainly in comparison with the Batarian _Prophet_ I had back in my locker. I pulled the charging handle as I had seen Orr do, and was rewarded with the red display lighting up above the weapon's trigger-guard.

"The weapon has a 'Fold' function for easy carry and storage," Orr stated loudly, his voice easily carrying over the buzz of conversation. "Find the tab on the bottom of the stock and depress it… _thus_."

The rifle in my hands folded down, and the stock retracted into the main body of the gun, leaving me with a roughly-rectangle shape box of plastic and metal.

"Press it again to fold the weapon back into Active Mode," Orr stated, demonstrating the movement, his rectangle unfolding directly into his hand, unlike most of the Arrows, who fumbled with their guns as they suddenly found themselves holding the barrels or various awkward parts of the weapon.

I had to give it to him, Orr was a patient and skilled instructor. Strange beyond that, and very out of place, but he was good at what our Pharaoh wanted from him right now. The next hour or so was spent making sure the forty or so Blood Arrow officers had the hang of their Avengers, and could deploy their weapon without shooting themselves or any of their friends in the face.

"Equip your warriors," Nasser spoke at last, after Orr gave him a satisfied nod. "Prepare for battle. When the time is right, we will strike out against our enemies. _No one_ is to move or attack preemptively without my word. Is that clear?"

The nods that met his words were equally obedient and disappointed.

"These new rifles will be an advantage in battle, yes," Nasser went on, "But our enemies are deploying their strength elsewhere, and think their numbers are sufficient to contain our strength. Showing our hand too early will allow them to bring in reinforcements in such numbers as to render our technological advantage null and void. Anyone who launches _any_ kind of raid without their Pharaoh's approval shall be dealt with… _harshly_."

Understanding crossed the faces of the doubters in the room, and the buzz turned excited as the Pharaoh dismissed us, and we began streaming out of the courtyard, bound for our various territories. Bomazi and Father were speaking in hushed tones before we broke off and headed back towards our own district of Little Egypt. Hatshepsut moved beside him and opened her mouth to say something, but Father only raised a hand.

"Not here," he said in a low growl. "Pyramid."

An hour or so later, we were sitting down around the long table of the Pyramid's back room…. Again.

"Gone long time, our Pharaoh," Ivan stated to break the thoughtful silence. "Need strike to show strength."

"That makes sense," I agreed. "He wants to remind the rest of the Arrows that he's still the top varren around here."

"No," Ptolemy interrupted. "This is something else. Something larger, on a grander scale…"

Father nodded, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, then shot O'Shea a glance. "Mike? What about this… Orr?"

"Canadian, by his accent," the Earth-born Arrow shrugged, as if that meant something to any of us. "Ex-Alliance, by his bearing, or I'm a squint. And here, look here on the stock."

He then lifted his own Avenger onto the table, unfolding it and pointing to a series of numbers.

" _Armory Serial Number #183E2037_ ," he read slowly. "These came from an Alliance armory, once upon a time. And here," the weapon was turned over, " _M.F.D. 1/30/81._ That means 'Marked For Destruction,' for January of this year."

"Must be really old weapons..." I asked, "Aren't the Avengers up to Mark nine or something?"

"Ten." O'Shea corrected me, but the number didn't mean much. Just a confirmation that these were old guns that were supposed to be destroyed, not given to a gang on Omega.

"Whoever this Orr is," Nobu stated slowly, "He is able to steal weapons from the Great Alliance itself?"

"Or whoever the Alliance is entrusting to destroy the weapons," O'Shea nodded in agreement.

"Nasser must have found a benefactor of some sorts while he was on Earth," Hattie spoke up, for once making sense. "Whoever they are, they're either stinking rich, or have their thumbs up the asses of people who are."

"We must move with caution," Rashid stated. "Whatever our Pharaoh's orders, news that Arrows have been seen bearing _brand-new_ weapons is sure to spread the news like wildfire around the station."

"Assuming that none of the Jackals _sell_ theirs to pay for their Dust," O'Shea snorted in derision. " _Karking_ junkies…"

"I agree with Rashid," Father spoke up suddenly, and his gaze grew hard and determined. "We close ranks, and meet these… _newcomers_ with eyes and ears open. Khentu?"

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. "Yes?"

"No contact with your… _crew_. We can't risk any word of this getting to the Eclipse, or to our rivals."

I frowned, but nodded. As much as the three of us had worked together, I didn't want to put them in the position of choosing between their race and their friendship with _me_.

"And that goes for all of you," Father continued. "No Outsiders in our territory from here on out. Nobu, Ivan, raise the barricades. Anyone challenges or questions, tell them we're guarding against True Sons raiding on their way down from Tuhi."

The two giants nodded. That answer would satisfy of our neighbors, if only because it was mostly true: Survivors, or more likely deserters, from the True Sons were streaming back down to the Lowers, and many of them thought looting or pillaging on the way down was a good idea. Consequently, most of the gangs in Doru were also dealing with the assholes, and it was probably the gods' own luck that we hadn't had to yet.

"Rashid, call out the militia. A full muster. Go through each and every one of them personally. I need to know who is capable of fighting in a pitched battle, and who needs to be guarding a street corner."

The wiry man nodded.

" _Alhabib_. Beloved." Hatshepsut leaned forward eagerly... making sure that the table got a great view down her shirt, I noticed. "I need a full count of our stores. Rifles, blades, the food reserves, and the medical supplies. If we must suffer a siege, I need to know how long we can last."

"As you command, my love," Hattie replied in a breathy tone that made my brother and I roll our eyes.

"Ptolemy." My older brother straightened in his chair. "I'm giving you the Cavern Dogs. Head to the Warrens tomorrow and take command there."

Ptolemy raised an eyebrow. "I thank you for your trust, Father, but Lydia Chang is proud and competent, she might not…"

"Chang and her band are alive by our generosity," Father interrupted. "They will agree to the burn-over, or they will… _move on_. I need people I can trust, and I need _fighters_ for this... _war_ that Nasser is planning, not gutter-swept trash."

"Turning street thugs into fighters," I chuckled. "Good luck with that, Tol."

"He won't need luck," Father stated, and a _slight_ smile came across his lips. "You're going with him."

I blinked. Twice. "What."

* * *

 **Broken Image**

 _(Laila Adonis)_

 **Location:** The Warrens, Lower Doru District, Omega

* * *

The Warrens were aptly named. Rather than a neighborhood designed and built simultaneously, the labyrinthine network of buildings had been built over a space of some four centuries, one on top of the other, and rock chipped away from the asteroid to create more room. Some of the older buildings, like the one we were now standing in, had been carved from solid rock by some long-dead but industrious denizens of Omega.

Most areas were so chaotic and confused that no one sane dared go into them for fear of not finding your way back out. A lot of the old buildings, caves, tunnels, and streets were lightless, rotting places filled with things that didn't really qualify as 'sapient' anymore. But a few areas were mapped out enough, useful enough, and close enough to the nice areas of the station to actually see visitors and use.

The sign in front of the building advertised it as "The Desert Sands Casino." It was the only business that I'd ever heard of operating in the Warrens, and it only managed it by having its front door in a short tunnel that lead right up to the top of Doru. Ostensibly, it was a place to kick back and relax after a hard day's work. In reality, it was a place where the rich got back most of the few credits they paid the workers, either at the gambling tables up front or in the drug dens in the back.

The slaves moved from the kitchens, such as they were, to the tables. Assuming they weren't grabbed and dragged into the booths for the entertainment of the paying customers. Fortunately, that wasn't something I had to worry about. Currently. The fact that I was wearing _clothes_ seemed to be enough to convey that I was off the regular menu. As the personal property of the owner, my time was spent largely waiting upon him and servicing _his_ needs… whatever they may be.

However degrading and humiliating my day-to-day life was, I kept on reminding myself that it was a step up from where I _had_ been. Shith was the type of slave dealer that gave _slave dealers_ a bad name. He'd specialized in 'reclamation projects'... i.e.; slaves who'd shown some rebellion in the past. His solutions to 'tame' them were brutal and vicious even by Omega's standards... Spirits, I could still hear the mewling cries of the other slaves in their pens as he satisfied his sadistic tastes.

When Ashik ul Matte had shown up and been willing to pay double for a skilled coder, it had taken all of my considerable self-control not to look _overjoyed_.

The memories caused me to pause and send a silent prayer to the spirits to look after that poor Quarian who had been in the cell next to mine. Her throat had been slit and then clumsily patched by one of Omega's useless sawbones before being handed off to Shith. Compared to her, my lot in life was _lucky,_ and I knew it. My talons may have been filled down to harmless nubs, but I was alive, wasn't currently being used as a sex-toy, and had a decent change of keeping both of those things true for a while _._

"Laila!"

My master's call brought back to the present, and I moved quickly through the mass of gamblers and drunkards to stop just behind his shoulder.

"Master?" I answered, cocking my head to the left in the Batarian fashion. He had liked that I knew how to behave around Batarians when he had bought me, and that made him… _slightly_ less cruel than he might have been, I thought.

"Table Five has shorted out again," He stated, without turning his _very_ rotund figure to face me. "Work your magic, and get it up and running again."

"As my lord wishes," I replied evenly, stepping backwards a few paces before turning my back to leave.

Ashik had needed someone who could keep the electronic quasar slots and gambling tables running and in order, as well as code them to _mostly_ favor the House. Only a truly _stupid_ casino rigged them to always win: word got around the station about _those types_ of casinos, and that was a fast way to lose your customer base. No, the trick was to let someone win _just_ often enough for them to keep playing, and never to let them win _big_ enough to tempt them to collect their winnings and go home.

I was kneeling by the empty table, spinning up my Omni-Tool and beginning a diagnostic when suddenly a gunshot sounded from the entrance. I instinctively crouched lower, scanning the room. Guns weren't allowed into the casino, lest some sore loser attempt to recoup his losses by force.

Additionally, the guards at the door generally discouraged anyone drunk or unlucky enough to get themselves thrown out from coming back for revenge. Something in the back of my mind told me that this was different, and very, very wrong. Sure enough, the black curtain parted, letting outside light stream into the purposefully-dark room. A human stood there in full armor, of good make and quality, by Omega standards.

Bit too shiny though, made him an instant target.

"Right lads!" his voice boomed, amplified by his helmet's speakers. "Let's go!"

A dozen or so other figures emerged from behind him, these armed clubs or blades. The three bouncers ul Matte hired to throw out drunks and troublesome customers went down messily, and not before laying out a few of their attackers in the process. A few Batarian regulars, friends of my master, likewise joined the fray, and met similar fates. The customers for the most part wisely opted to crouch low in their seats or under their tables: this was hardly the first raid in which most of them had been caught in the middle, and would likely not be the last.

I settled in to do the same, watching and ducking occasionally, and tried not to draw any attention to myself.

"Ashik? _Ashik_! Where are you, you thunderous bulk?" The leader called out, walking around the room, head swiveling in search of his target. The obese Batarian made a whimpering noise and did his best to haul his massive figure towards the back door in a slow-motion imitation of a sprint. Another human, this one also well-armored, though not as neatly dressed as the leader, clothes-lined him with a vambrace to his chin, sending his considerable form crashing down to the floor.

"P-p- _Please_!" my master blubbered.

"Quit your whining, _kuffa_ ," The second armored human sighed, keeping a pistol trained on him all the same. "I haven't even _hurt_ you yet."

"W-we-we had a truce, Mr. Emrys!" Ashik said, a trace of confidence coming back into his voice when he realized he was _not_ to be executed out of hand. He grabbed a nearby table-edge to haul himself back up to his feet, careful to keep his hands in clear view. "Your father…"

"…has altered the details of the truce," The shiny leader, evidently 'Mr. Emrys', stated. "Tell the superiors in the Consortium that the Warrens are now under the protection and management of the Arrows of Knesset."

But before my master could make a reply, four more Batarians shot to their feet at the table next to me, bringing their pistols up. I dove beneath the table entirely at that point, not wanting to be anywhere close to upright.

I watched from my spot on the ground, thought the gunfire exchange was short-lived and terribly one-sided: the two humans' armor flickered as barriers engaged, deflecting the shots effortlessly, while the unarmored Batarians were not so lucky. Not that I blamed them for trying: useful barriers and functional armor was a general rarity among the smaller gangs on this shithole. They'd probably assumed the armor to be cheap plating, if that.

"Well.. _shit._ " Mr. Emrys was looking down at the body of Ashik ul Matte, his upper left eye now a gaping hole. Ironically, the Batarian had been a victim of his own countrymen's friendly fire, rather than the humans'.

"What?" The second Human shrugged. "We wanted to send a message. Mission fucking accomplished."

A small varren-looking man came over to the fallen Consortium members, giving an extra bullet to each of them, and collecting their weapons. He looked over to see me on the ground, and an evil grin spread across his face.

"What 'ave we 'ere?" He screeched, and a pistol swung in my direction. "Got one of 'em 'Iding 'ere, boz! He's a fekking squawker, too!"

An armored hand jerked the pistol back down.

"She's a _slave_ ," Mr. Not-So-Nice-Armor admonished, "See the collar? And she doesn't have the fringe, means she's a _female_ … dumbass. Read a book."

He took two steps towards me, and a hand reached down, palm outstretched. "You alright?"

I stared at him for a moment. Humans weren't terribly inclined to like turians, not since the First Contact War on Shanxi, and the feeling among my own people was mutual. I nodded wordlessly in answer, still keeping a wary eye on the hand.

"You didn't get hit, did you?"

I shook my head.

"Come on, then," he said. His voice was calm and soothing. "Up you get."

Cautiously, I accepted the hand and was pulled back up onto my feet. That made No-So-Nice-Armor step back a bit, since I had a good head of height over him. I very carefully kept my hands away from my sides, though the collar around my neck should have made my helplessness clear.

"Chang!" Mr. Emrys called out, and a dark-haired Human female appeared from one of the rooms, helping one of the casino's Human slave girls to her feet.

"Lock down the casino," he stated. "Gather the slaves, and find the control rods. You may have to pull the command codes off Ashik's Omni-Tool."

"Boss," Chang nodded in reply, and set off, three or four of the… _Arrows_ , they had called themselves, in tow.

"Khentu," Mr. Emrys continued, and Not-So-Nice-Armor turned towards him.

 _Ahh. That's his name._

"See if you can find the Dust and Sand stores," Mr. Emrys ordered. "Guard them with your life. I want this lot _sober_ if the Consortium decides to strike back immediately."

'Khentu' sighed and nodded, then turned back to me. "Do you know where they keep them, _H'Rekssis?_ "

I cocked my head in confusion at the last word, and then realized that he had tried to say the Turian word for 'darling' or 'sweetie.' Without subharmonics, however, it just sounded like a weird chirping noise. I managed to stop my mandibles from flickering, and nodded in answer to his question.

"Lead the way, then."

I moved slowly towards the back, stepping over the bodies of my Batarian former owners. In typical Omega fashion, my entire life had shifted again. If I played my cards right, maybe I could convince them that I was more valuable as a free employee.

Or then again, I could be handed to a room of drugged-up humans, to be tortured and raped to death.

Spirits, watch over me.

* * *

 **Author's Note: With Fanfictions' servers on the fritz, I hope everyone sees this upload correctly.**

 **In this chapter, we see the beginning of Nasser's plans falling into place, with a mysterious benefactor aiding the Arrows' rise. Also, we met Liala Adonis, the female turian _almost_ purchased by Cieran Kean in ****AR: Ronin** **, one-time fellow slave with Voya'Chi vas Xentha.**

 **And so it begins. I hope you all will keep reading and reviewing! My thanks to Katkiller-V, for awesome editing and beta-reading skills! **

**All thoughts/reviews/suggestions/constructive criticisms are welcome! Even if it's as simple as "I liked it. Good job," i means the world to mean to hear from you all!**

 **ROCK ON!**

 **Tusken1602**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

BJ Hanssen - Yes, this will be canon-compliant with the main AR-verse, and is in fact, running parallel to the events and actions of Cieran Kean and Co. Theorize away, and do let me know what you come up with!

EE-RAH!


	4. Act 1: Secure the Warrens

**Omega's Child**

 _(Khentu Emrys)_

 **Location:** The Warrens, Lower Doru District, Omega

* * *

The past several days had been spent preparing for the Consortium's counterattack. We all knew it was a matter _of when,_ not _if_. That was the way of Omega: A gang could not simply let another _take_ a section of territory without challenge, or else they would look weak, and on Omega, 'weak' rhymed with 'dead.'

Minutes after our raid was completed, while the Consortium members' bodies were still warm, several of the humans in the Warrens began flocking to our front door, some eager for employment, most looking to score some Sand or Dust in exchange for ratting out their alien neighbors as Consortium informants. Nine out of ten of the latter were lying through their teeth, hoping to loot their neighbors' dwellings once we drove them out. And yet, even knowing that, Lydia Chang and I were out, leading another sortie, having driven another batarian family out of their squalid hovel of an apartment.

"Don't know why you're moping, Khen," Chang shrugged. "Troubling over running out a few squints?"

"They could barely afford to _feed_ themselves," I stated, furrowing my brows beneath my helmet. "No way they were Consortium. Another waste of time."

"Eh, probably," she agreed. "But better safe than sorry, right?"

"It's stupid," I snapped. "Little Egypt is fine, because it's already _mostly_ humans, but driving out aliens from the Warrens is only going to swell the ranks of the Connies. Plus, if the four-eyed bastards _really_ wanted informants, they'd pay some human junkie to rat out his own kind easily enough. We're stepping on our own dicks, here, if you ask me."

Chang seemed to muse on that for awhile, and then shrugged before opting to change the subject.

"I bet Old Nasty was mad enough to spit nails when you told him where to send our cases of Avengers," she grinned, probably at Uncle's less-than-complimentary nickname given to him by the rank and file. "Your brother said that he did threaten anybody who launched a raid without his permission with punishment."

"He threatened if any _Arrows_ launched a raid," I shrugged, "Technically, the Desert Sands was seized by the Cavern Dogs, who have _since_ been folded into the Arrows of Knesset."

Chang snorted at the semantics, but grinned in approval nonetheless. Her new Arrow tattoo was simplistic compared to mine, just three white lines on her forehead making a rough arrow shape.

"And you're all right with Dad just putting Tol over the lot of you?" I asked, dropping my voice slightly to a more serious tone.

Chang gave me a look that showed she was weighing on how much she could trust me, then she shrugged.

"Never been interested in leading," she answered simply. "Us Dogs have been living from hand to mouth for the past eight weeks thanks to that idiot Hearn. Your brother's a bit of an uptight _prick_ , but he's already shown that he's got a good head on his shoulders, and a pair of brass ones to back it up. Tim would have been at the back of that raid, cursing everybody for not getting it done faster. Your brother and you were the first ones through the door."

I cocked my head for a second. "Of course we were," I answered, slightly confused. "We have the best armor. Any of the Connies had decent weapons, we wanted to be the first ones to take them out."

She smiled, broader this time. "See? The fact that you didn't even think about it like that, puts me more at ease. And I know most of the Dogs agree with me. You're a good person, Khen Emrys."

I waved a hand dismissively, but before I could object to her flattery, a figure stepped out of the Desert Sands' door to meet us.

"Everything go well?" Ptolemy asked.

"Oh, it was a narrow thing," I answered, gesturing to the dozen-strong squad behind us. "We drove out an unarmed batarian, his two women, and a gaggle of children into the street. It was a glorious battle indeed."

Chang rolled her eyes at my sarcasm, as I was sure Tol was doing under his own helmet. I shoved past him, entering the newly-renovated building.

Stage 1 of our take-over had been to free the humans enslaved at the Casino. The Arrows had been founded on the principle of protecting the humans on the station against the stronger and more numerous asari, krogan, or any other races that would enslave them. Most had chosen to join us, especially when offered the opportunity for revenge against the Consortium. Others… still cowered in corners and jumped at every loud noise. These were almost giddy with relief when the collars went back on and they were given tasks and orders, mostly to clean away the filth that had accumulated in the dark corners and back rooms of the ancient building.

Stage 2 had been to turn the Desert Sands Casino into an armory/recruitment center for the Arrows of Knesset. The casino tables and equipment was hauled in trucks back to Little Egypt, and wrought-iron doors were installed in place of the bead curtains and draperies. The disorganized mass of tables that had been scattered in the main room were now replaced with orderly rows of long tables flanked by benches, giving the place more of a barracks feel. Which, I supposed, had been my brother's entire point. Strands of lights had been brought in as well, which aided in transforming the place from a dingy, seedy casino into the forward operating base that our father had ordered Tol to create.

"This is the third raid you've led this shift," Ptolemy stated, but the big-brother concern was there for me to see, though I resented the condescension that was also laced into the sentence.

"Well, I suppose Tess is in charge of making sure _you_ get a good night's rest," I retorted. "Whatever is between you and Jaye is your own business, I suppose. I don't judge."

Ptolemy's glare darkened at my insinuation of how he used his slaves. It was only just then that I took note of the fact that he had followed me through the winding hallways all the way back to the larger room I had staked out as mine.

He was up to something…

"What?" I asked, narrowing my glare. "You coming to tuck me in, too?"

"I just want you to know," Ptolemy stated, his eyes flickering to my door. "I advised Father against it."

I followed his glance, and then warily reached for the door.

"What's going on?"

Ptolemy only lifted an eyebrow in answer.

I snorted and opened the door, bracing for whatever my Father had inflicted on me. I paused, blinked once or twice in surprise, and then closed the door again, staying in the hallway.

"Tol," I asked slowly, feeling a headache coming on, on top of stiff muscles and sore bruises, "Why is there a turian in my room?"

"You might recognize her as the slave who…"

I cut him off. "I know _who_ she is, _Osiris_ damn it! What I don't know is _why_ she is in my room!"

"If it helps," Ptolemy shrugged, "I believe Father considers it a _reward_ for all the hard work you've put in over the past month or so."

"I don't _want_ a slave," I hissed. "I don't have the time or the patience for it."

Another shrug. "I don't believe he's giving you a choice in the matter."

"What am I supposed to do with her?" I asked, and then held up a hand as I realized my mistake of asking my _brother_ what I was going to do with a _female_ in my own room. "You know what, shut up, don't answer that."

Ptolemy turned around and strode away, but not before shooting me a rude gesture over his shoulder to match the one I was showing to his back. I glowered at him for a few seconds, and then pushed open the door once again and walked in.

The young Turian stood to her feet, folding her hands in front of her, the very picture of deference. Or as deferential as someone a head taller than me could look. She was a darker skin tone than other Turians I had seen up on Afterlife, or down in the Lowers. In fact, it was only two or three shades darker than my own. The face was clear of any the traditional face-painting or tattoos that most of her race sported.

"Yep," I stated slowly, slamming the door behind me. "This has my father written all over it."

"My Lord?" she stated, and her eyes seemed to grow wide. They were a bright shade of green, which contrasted with her skin-tone well.

"You know," I continued on my rant, "only he could take a reward and turn it into _more_ responsibility and trouble. Some parents get their kids puppies… I get a _person_."

Her mandibles twitched. "Forgive me for being an inconvenience, lord."

The sentence was spoken in an even voice that managed a tone of contrition. That was enough to make me feel like an asshole. Sure, it was inconvenient as hell to have somebody else that I was now solely responsible for, but that was hardly this girl's fault. None of this was her fault or in her control... and I'd probably just made a _stunning_ first impression.

"Sit down," I gestured to the chair by the desk. She slowly moved to obey.

Her head cocked at me in an expression of curiosity, and she moved her hands to settle in her lap. Her mandibles worked in a slight flare of emotion that I didn't recognize. But then again, turians were hard to read for me at the best of times.

I decided to start simple. "What's your name?"

A blink of those green eyes, though they didn't look at me. "Laila, my lord."

"Just 'Laila'?" I asked, "No family name?"

She looked up sharply from the spot on the floor she had been dubiously studying since she sat down. Her mouth opened, and then closed, and then opened again. "Adonis, lord. Laila Adonis."

"Well, Laila Adonis, the first thing you need to know is that I'm not a fucking lord." I growled, wanting to make sure she knew that. "My name is Khentu, and I would prefer to be called by it. Or even better, just Ken."

"I see," she answered in a tone of voice that communicated very clearly that she did _not_ see.

I started to glower at her, then I remembered the fat-ass who'd owned her last week. "Right, batarian owners. They're all about the bowing and the scraping, the titles, and the weird head-tilt thing, aren't they? You know what, fuck it: If 'Ken' is too weird for you right now, I will accept 'sir,' if that's easier."

Shoulders relaxed _slightly_ in an almost-concealed sign of relief. "I will do my best…sir."

I nodded back at her, then an awkward silence fell. It stayed there for a good few minutes as I realized that I had absolutely no idea what to do with her, or what to have her do. Most people used slaves for menial labor, or for sex, or just to parade around so they could pretend they were like the rich fuckers up by Afterlife.

"So… Laila," I stated, trying to gather my thoughts, "I've never owned a slave before, so this is kinda a new thing for me… Ummm, ok. Do you have a place to stay?"

She hesitated, an indiscernible look on her immobile face.

"A place to sleep at night, or keep your gear?" I attempted to clarify.

"I… No, sir," she shook her head.

I sighed. "Well that's not surprising. This building's a little cramped for the time being. Come on, then."

Standing, I strode to the small door in the corner of the room, doing my best not to let my disappointment show on my face. The whole reason I had chosen _this apartment area_ was to claim the second alcove as a closet/storeroom. I had vague plans of using it as a place to work on my armor and weapons, but now… she needed to sleep _somewhere_.

Hathor, you're a heartless bitch of a goddess. Probably gave my asshole of a father the idea...

"Here we go," I sighed, opening the door, revealing a bit of a mess. "I had used this as a place to throw my boxes, I'm afraid. But we'll clear them out and you can set up a cot in here, I guess. It's not luxurious, by any means, but it should be big enough for you and your gear."

"I… I… don't have any gear, sir," she stated, and there was an odd tightness in her voice. "There's… there's really no need…"

"Do you have an Omni-Tool?" I asked.

"I… I did, but they took it when they gathered everyone up."

I nodded. "Once we're done here, we'll go find a man named Shifty, down in the armory. Odds are, the one they took from you is still there, and you won't have to reformat another one. You'll need one if we're going to code the door to you."

"You're… giving me the code… to my own room?" she asked.

I sighed at her incredulity.

"Look," I began, and then paused to try and gather my own thoughts. "Having a slave wasn't my idea, but once my father gets a thing in his head, he's usually got it stuck there. Sending you back, or pawning you off on someone else to take care of is something he'd interpret as 'disrespectful.' And he'd take it out on you, and make _me_ watch."

She didn't say anything, but the look on her face was still of equal confusion and suspicion.

"I may be my father's bastard, but I'm not _that_ much of a bastard," I answered her unspoken question. "I don't get off on hurting aliens, or anyone for that matter."

 _That_ finally earned me a smile, or the turian equivalent to one, I was pretty sure.

"Come on," I said, grabbing a handle on a nearby crate. "Since we seem to be stuck with one another, let's get this stuff moved."

The crates got shoved aside, stacked along the wall of the main room.

"Shall I… organize your belongings, my l… sir?"

I followed her gaze and took in the general mayhem of the room for the first time. Over the past week, the mess had kinda happened… organically. A tossed shirt here, a repair kit there, an empty case of Omni-Gel there.

"Not gonna say 'no' to that," I admitted. "Place has kinda gotten into a mess. But Omni-Tool first. And you know what, see if you can find some food as well. Not sure how much dextrose _-_ rations we have here."

"There is a stockpile in the kitchens… for the turian and quarian slaves," she answered. I pursed my lips together for a moment before I remembered that she knew her way around this place, probably better than I do.

"Show me," I nodded, and opened the door. If Tol and I were going to be holding this rat-hole of a building, the least I could do was learn its in-and-outs as best I could. "I could do with a bite to eat, myself."

* * *

 **Broken Image**

 _(Laila Adonis)_

 **Location: The Warrens, Lower Doru District, Omega**

* * *

'A bite to eat' turned out to be basic protein bars liberated from the stockroom. I had pointed out the panel in which the dextrose provisions were stored, and my new master moved behind the counter to open it and tossed me another protein bar, this one marked with blue wrapping.

"Gonna have to bring real food in soon, or we'll have a mutiny on our hands," my mast… _Khentu_ stated, giving me a tired shake of his head. "I'll see what I can do to bring in some dextrose provisions."

I didn't know _what_ to make of this strange human. _None_ of the masters I had ever had ever gave me my own room, much less the code to the door. Ashik had put us all in a common room, and _he_ had kept the door codes, so as to lock us in when we were not on duty.

 _He was... strange, but then again I'd only known him for an hour or two._ My instincts screamed that this was the start of a long-term plan to deceive me, to trick me into lowering my guard or saying the wrong thing. No matter how benevolent he may seem, I was still his slave, and he was still my master. He could rape, murder, or torture me in the next second, and there was nothing I could do to stop him. Not while I still had this collar around my neck.

I wouldn't turn down the room, of course, but... I wouldn't lower my guard either.

Our path to the armory took us through the main room, now almost completely unrecognizable with all the casino equipment removed. Seated at the long tables now were forty or so Humans, some of whom I recognized as former slaves of ul Matte. The Arrows weren't into enslaving their own kind when they could help it, apparently.

Which was just bad luck for the turians and batarians at the Desert Sands. Or… whatever these Arrows were going to call it now.

At the front of the room, commanding the full attention of the former slaves, was a man in a black robe tattered enough to reveal that he was heavily tattooed from head to foot. Upon catching sight of him, Khentu sighed heavily and rolled his eyes.

"I see you _did_ decide to bring in a Jackal, after all," he stated to the armored figure that I recognized as Mr. Emrys. Without their helmets, it was easy to see the similarities between the two, though the different skin coloration was confusing. Could humans have different-colored babies in the same litter? Or maybe they were just cousins. I worked my mandibles in thought as Mr. Emrys... or was it _Ptolemy? Either way, the man_ simply shrugged his shoulders.

"They are poor in story and history," he replied to my maste, his tones oddly dry. "They need someone to tell them where they fit into this wide galaxy of ours."

Khentu didn't seem _satisfied_ with that answer so much as slightly less annoyed. The… _Jackal_ … spread his arms wide and began speaking, the words rising and falling in the fashion of a trained storyteller:

 _"Long ago… back when the worlds were young, and the stars were just being fashioned, there was a great disturbance in the Land that Was. Though they were surrounded by the beauty and the rich lands of the Sun God's creation, the Lesser gods and goddesses did quarrel amongst themselves, as they are wont to do. Arguments, threats and outright blows were exchanged, as each desired the most fertile lands and the most prosperous cities for their followers and their temples."_

The audience listened, enraptured by the tale and the word-pictures painted.

 _"Finally, the great All-Father, Amun-Ra, He who is the Sun itself, came down from His place in the heavens. And great was the consternation of the Lessers, for it was blindness agony and death to behold the Sun's face in His wrath and judgement. And that full wrath was cast upon them, and He angrily exclaimed,_

 _'Why do you quarrel amongst yourselves, like varren over bloated carrion? Is this earth the only planet I have created? Is Egypt the only land worthy of your children? Go out then, and make full use of this wide expanse! Craft beauty and life unto yourselves, rather than bicker like caged dogs!'_

 _And the other gods bowed their heads in shame and were sorely abashed. And they obeyed their Father's Command, each going their own way. And thus the gods took their children up into their arms and gathered them into their own worlds._

 _Hathor, mother of the bulls, crafted the Elcor unto herself, and in her own image._

 _Likewise sensuous goddess of passion Nephthys gathered unto herself the Asari._

 _The Turians, children of Hawk-headed Horus, multiplied by the rocks and rivers of Palavan._

 _And so it was, across the worlds and beyond the stars: Thoth and his wise Volus, Maat and his ever-praying Hanar, Taweret and her Quarian children, and Kephri the Vorcha-Crafter. Even Ptah, Master of the Forge, brought forth his own creation, and called them Krogan. Each of them set to work skillfully crafted their own children, and set them upon distant worlds._

 _And Amun-Ra saw the work of His children, and behold, His Pride and His love for them shone all the brighter. And he stretched forth His Hand unto the mud on the banks of the Sacred Nile, and made… MAN. And He gave Man Egypt to call their own, and gave unto them the Lordship of the Stars."_

I had to fight the urge to roll my eyes, wondering who had made the females in that case. As the story continued, I had to keep suppressing my desire to scoff the woefully-biased tale of the various races' creations, especially as I saw the unabashed wonder on the faces of most of the slaves present. They had been told all their short and miserable lives that they were carrion and good-for-nothing. I supposed the message that they were the favorite children of a sun god would be welcome news for most of them.

Ptolemy and Khentu, on the other hand, held looks of long-suffering patience. _Like children being told a tale after the thousandth time of hearing it._ But now the priest was continuing on, his tone building and rising dramatically.

 _"But not all the gods were so pleasantly inclined, and not all of their creations were so benevolent: The God of Darkness, Death, and Decay, Set, saw the works of his brothers and sisters, and the masterpiece of his Father's making, and gathered the course and gritty desert sands for himself. From these, he made his own twisted abominations, and set them upon the harsh sands of Khar'shan. And he gave them the name 'Batarians', and instructed them to hate Amun-Ra and all his works, especially those crafted to their masters: The Humans."_

Ahh. My mandibles worked involuntarily as I realized the whole point of this story time. Not only to give these poor bastards a history, but also to channel their natural hatred of their batarian owners. It made a certain twisted-yet-practical sense that was daily life on Omega. Dangerous sense in some ways, there were far more batarians around than humans, but if it motivated them to fight harder I supposed the gang leaders considered the trade-off worth it.

Khentu snorted quietly as the speech droned on, and then jerked his head in an indication to follow him. We made our way around the rapt listeners and the animated priest. The brief looks exchanged between him and the priest told of cold mutual indifference. We strode until we came to large reinforced door that _had_ been the vault of the casino. Khentu raised an armored fist and beat on the door.

"Shifty!" He all but shouted, "Open the door!"

A muffled voice came from the other side: "You have to use the secret password."

My master scowled, "Open the door, you twitchy fuck! Or I'll put a bullet in both of your knees, and another in your spine for good measure!"

"… That'll work."

There was the sound of several bolts being withdrawn manually, and then an electronic _click_ as the lock disengaged. The man's face on the other side of the door was thin, drawn and almost milk-white pale. I wasn't sure about how to tell human health, but he definitely didn't seem to be well.

"Master Khentu," he greeted, bowing his head low. "I am my lord's humble serv…"

"Knock that shit off," Khentu stated, pushing past him to enter the room, not quite shoving him away. "You took an Omni-Tool from Laila here. She'll need it back."

The two of them stared at me for a solid two seconds before I realized that they were waiting for me to speak.

"Oh," I started, somewhat flustered, "Um… it's a Bluewire Model 2, um… Sir."

Shifty seemed to look at Khentu with reluctance, but moved to a nearby crate, though which he rummaged around for a moment, then straightened, my old Bluewire in hand. He half-handed, half-tossed it my direction, and I slipped it on and activated it to ensure that all of my settings were untouched. I closed the program, and then nodded at Master Khentu.

"Now," Khentu stated, turning his attention back to Shifty. "Show me what you've got."

"Ah, ah, yes, yes," the man stated, and I began to see how he had earned his nickname. The man almost _skidded_ over to a nearby worktable, were a shotgun lay. Or rather, the _pieces_ of a shotgun lay. It had almost been completely stripped down to its bare bones.

"Your shotgun was a challenge, so it was, yes, yes: Had to strip it down to lighten the weight, so I did," the man explained, pausing to sniff loudly. That and the subtle hand-shakes indicated less-than-healthy recreational habits. Blue Dust, or something like it probably. "Secondary sink and regulator to punctuate the shots, forward grip to manage control."

Khentu picked up the gun, the pistol grip accentuated by a folding-stock that seemed to be fashioned out of bent rebar. The weapon's forward grip likewise had begun as something that strongly resembled a pot handle, welded beneath the weapon's double-barrels. Khentu folded the stock down, and placed the weapon on the small of his back, and tested quick-drawing it several times. To the drugged-addled gunsmith's credit, the folding stock deployed automatically each time, and the menacing _whumm_ of the weapon at least _promised_ it to be functional.

"Firing pattern?" Khentu asked.

"Both barrels fire with one trigger pull," nodded Shifty. "Left one a half-second before the right: first hit takes down any shielding or barriers, second one finishes the job."

"Nice," Khentu nodded approval, replacing the weapon on the small of his back. "Remind me to bring my…"

His Omni-Tool flared red, and a moment later a claxon horn filled the air. Khentu glanced down at his wrist, and then cursed loudly. He turned to run back towards the main room, and then paused to turn to look at me.

"Laila…" he paused, as if trying to make up his mind what to do with me. The sound of running feet seemed to make up his mind. "Help Shifty pass out the arms and ammo blocks, and then bunker up here. I will be back to get you!"

I nodded wordlessly, but his back was already turned and running down the narrow passageway. The pale Human, Shifty, turned towards a rack of submachine guns in various stages of breaking down.

"You know anything about guns, girlie?" he asked. In answer, I reached over to an older Trident-model submachine gun, placing a power core in place, and locked down the venting manifold before handing it to him. An eyebrow raised and he slowly took the weapon from my hands.

"Guess you do."

* * *

 **Pharaoh's Heir**

 _(Ptolemy Emrys)_

The Consortium had taken their time to counterattack, but Khentu and I had determined that that only meant their attack would be all the more ferocious when it came. We were not wrong. That had given us time to prepare our defenses, but still left us with the problem was that most of my "forces" had been slaves only a few days ago, some of whom had never touched a gun before.

Gods help us, the Cavern Dogs were the 'veterans', around which I have to mount a defense.

My head screeched pain as I charged a biotic throw, knocking three overeager batarians off their feet, following that up with my pistol as they lay stunned. The amp I now wore had been designed more than a decade ago, but it had been my constant companion since I was twelve. That and the splitting headaches that accompanied any strenuous biotic activity.

The armored figure of my brother appeared, and began roaring orders for the rest of our fighters to get into position. The barricades we had constructed served their purpose as figures darted from the front door of the former casino, and _something_ resembling a firing line took shape.

I sent up a silent thanks to the gods for his presence. He was a pain in my ass most of the time, but there were few people who I'd rather have at my back in a fight. Of course, I wasn't about to tell him that.

He slammed into cover next to me at that moment, his voice annoyed. "How many?"

"Three less now," I shrugged, indicating the bodies lying in the gutter ahead of us. Khentu's head cocked sideways and he suddenly leaned in closer.

"Your implant giving you hell again?"

I contemplated giving him a rude gesture or a sharp word, but instead merely gave a brief nod.

"Save your biotics for when these four-eyes start chucking grenades," he stated, slapping me on the back with an armored hand. "Chang! Get your fucking rifles into place! Keep the Connie's heads down!"

Anger surged in my chest at my half-brother giving orders when _I_ was the one in command, but at that moment more gunfire erupted from the building across the street. Or… whatever passed for a street in the Warrens. Two of ours went down, bullets piercing their sheet-metal plate. That was sufficient protection against the melee weapons that constituted most of the violence on this station, but utterly useless in a gunfight.

"That's right, _fuckers_ ," I heard Khentu mutter into his helmet's mic. "Come take advantage of all this _lovely_ cover to shoot at the poor, stupid Humans…"

Taking a glance over our own piece of cover, several other figures could be seen running up the street to fire from the windows of the nearby buildings.

"Do it." I snapped, not liking the numbers or positioning, or the fact that another dog had just lost most of his head to a bullet

"Too soon," Khen shook his head. "We should wait until…"

"Do it!" I snarled, "Now!"

Khentu spun up his Omni-Tool, and pressed the giant holographic button that appeared. Three massive explosions went off from the Batarians' firing positions. While the charges themselves hadn't been overly large, the unyielding stone walls of the buildings they were placed in ensured that most of the kinetic energy was rebounded, the shockwave killing or crippling whoever survived the initial explosion.

Squints were a lot of unpleasant things, but they were also tough fuckers. Maybe half of them were still moving even after the blast, struggling to get back on their feet.

"Move up!" I called, vaulting over the barricade to make for the nearest building. Khentu went right, leading another group into the second structure. The re-armed slaves, led by the Jackal priest, moved to take our places. I could hear the priest exalting the name of Amun-Ra and, thankfully, also correcting several of the recently-freed slaves on taking proper cover and setting up a crossfire. They manage to cut down most of the wounded before they could recover, which at least proved they weren't totally useless.

My group took their positions on the first and second floor of the residence, stepping over the mangled and wrecked bodies of eight Batarians. Between Khentu's position on the opposite side, the front of the casino, and our own position, we now possessed a commanding overwatch on any more Consortium fighters coming in from the Warrens proper.

"Boss? Oo 'ear dat?" one of the men next to me asked, his head cocked sideways. I cranked up my helmet's microphone. The _drum-drum-drum_ sound could almost be mistaken for some kind of engine, but it was too irregular for that.

Almost like…

"They're rushing us!" I called out, cranking up my helmet's speakers to match, and also opening a line to Khentu. "Get ready! Pick your targets and don't let them overheat you!"

I was ready for a flood of bullets or grenades, or anything similar, but instead got an eyeful of a mob running straight at us. The mass of bodies that appeared were unarmed, and there was no hatred or anger in their eyes. Only the blind, stupid fear of stampeding beasts, running from unseen predators in a terrified panic.

Shit.

 _"_ Meat shields," Khentu's voice was grim now, and I could hear the anger and frustration within. Behind this crowd, or more likely mingled _into_ this crowd, Consortium fighters were gripping pistols and shotguns, driving the civilians forward.

"Amun-Ra is our witness brother," I stated in a low voice over the private channel connecting us. Then I switched to the public channel. "Open up!"

The resulting carnage was… messy. Several of the figures didn't even realize what was going on around them, continuing their pell-mell run towards us. When they did realize, rather than throw themselves flat, some of them turned and began running back the way they came, getting gunned down in the crossfire from their own kind. Others kept coming, making the streets run with blood of several hues.

As the civvies died, I could pick out several lumbering figures, these in full kit, staggering their advance to cover their comrades.

"Focus on the armored _kuffas!"_ I called out. "Bring them down!"

I didn't _enjoy_ killing, like some of the Arrows did. But I had no twinge in my conscience whatsoever in bringing down cowardly scum such as these. Whatever the differences between our gangs, they had no business sending civilians against us _en masse_. It was short-sighted, despicable, and cowardly... The kind of shit that the True Sons did, and look where it had gotten _those_ morons.

"Stay down, you stupid fools, focus your… _holy fucking shit!"_ Khentu's exclamation was followed by the _thud-thud-thud_ of something _massive_ coming our way. A metallic behemoth's upper torso came into view as it lumbered up the street.

"Where the _fuck_ did these guys get a combat mech!?" Khentu's voice came in over my helmet's speakers.

"They must _really_ want this place back," I replied, fighting to keep my voice even.

My brother snarled, "Gee, wouldn't it be nice if we could lure it closer and cripple it with explosive charges that _somebody_ set off too soon?"

"Fuck off." I snapped back, this wasn't the time for his snark.

"What's the call, Tol?" Khentu asked, surprisingly dropping the topic in favor of the more immediate problem.

I was about to reply when the mech opened fire, the thunderous roar of its heavy cannon making everyone flinch and duck. A couple of the ex-slaves tried to bolt, ignoring the priest's orders, and were promptly turned into bloody confetti as they made targets of themselves.

"Pull everybody back!" I called out. "None of our guns are gonna make a dent in that thing! Get back into the casino, where it's too big to follow!"

Before anyone could move, a new voice came over the radio. "Hold your positions!"

"Who the _fuck is this?"_ Khentu asked incredulously, his tone matching my own sentiment.

"This is Orr," the voice answered. "Friendlies inbound. We'll handle the mech."

Stealing a glance from my shoulder, I saw a large number of the white-armored troops exiting the door of the casino. Two of them had activated Omni-Shields, and they were drawing the fire of the mech while others were _jet_ - _boosting_ to the roofs of the buildings. The _dida-chok, dida-chok_ of their guns were distinct from the patter of our own weapons; even distinctly different from the Avengers Khentu and I wielded.

There were nine, ten, twelve figures now, fanning out into a firing line, bringing the full force of their firepower to bear on the now suddenly-outgunned Consortium fighters. The Mech's massive form buckled as a Carnage round brought down its shields and a sniper round went through the hydraulics of its left knee. Slowly sinking down, the processes of the VI inside the thing identified the new arrivals as the primary threat, shifting its automatic fire to them.

Khentu was triggering overloads as fast as his Omni-Tool could reload them, and I summoned up another biotic throw, targeting its one good leg. The force of the glowing orb was enough to knock the infernal thing off-balance, sending it crashing onto its face. The lead figure of our reinforcements leapt from two stories above, his armor and the back of the mech absorbing the force of his landing.

He jammed a pistol into the inner-workings of the mech, just at the neck's articulation, and pulled the trigger, multiple times. With his free hand, he brought his rifle up on full-auto, spraying what few Batarians remained to send them scattering. That only served to buy them a few more seconds of life as they were quickly outflanked by the rest of the Arrows rushing forwards with my brother, closing at point blank range with knife, hatchet, and fist.

"Regroup!" the figure astride the now-sparking and twitching mech boomed out. A few figures remained on the roof with rifles still barking at the retreating figures. In contrast, the Omega-born residents busied themselves with the age-old task of the victors: looting the dead and giving the mercy stroke to the dying. Khentu and I left them to it as we moved to meet these unlooked-for reinforcements.

" _Hyksos_ Orr," Khentu greeted, dipping his head in a polite nod. "Your arrival is quite timely."

"Happy to help," Orr stated, reaching a hand up to remove his helmet. "Your uncle sent us over here with your rifles, and we heard the fighting going on outside. Thought we'd lend a hand."

"My thanks," I stated, not missing the look my brother gave me at such a ridiculous gesture as removing your helmet immediately after a battle. I turned and sent a polite nod towards his men.

"Hell, you don't gotta thank _me_ for killing squints!" One of them chuckled, also removing his helmet to reveal a scarred face with a full beard. "Fuckers always turn and run when presented with a proper fight, as per _fucking usual._ "

"Gotta live one 'ere, sah!" one of the ex-Cavern Dogs called out, dragging a wounded Batarian into the middle of the street. I drew myself up and began walking towards him. I was trying to look for a rank insignia when a shot rang out behind me, and the wounded prisoner twitched once and went limp, a massive hole in his chest.

I whirled to see Orr's rifle lowering, a smug grin on the Human's face.

"He could have had information," I said, keeping my voice even. That seemed to genuinely confuse the newcomer, the grin fading into a puzzled frown.

"What information could that _four-eyes_ have given us?" he scoffed. "That Humans are scum, that the Consortium will make us pay? That this fight isn't over?"

I squared off, now facing him full-on. "How about where they got those civvies? How many more are around? How many escaped? I hate not knowing shit, and I don't care if you're my uncles new favorite, no one executes _my_ prisoners without _my_ order, Orr."

Khentu moved left nonchalantly, but I could see that he was thinking the same thing I was. If it came down to it, I doubted even our Avengers could penetrate that brand-new armor he was wearing.

But the idiot had chosen to remove his helmet.

Jacob Orr regarded me sharply for a moment, and his hand twitched on the grip of his rifle. And then the weapon was folding down, and he replaced it over his right shoulder.

"Apologies," he stated evenly. "Your prisoner, your kill."

I willed my hand back down from my pistol, wincing beneath my helmet as my amp reminded me that I had overtaxed myself yet again.

"You brought our rifles?" I asked, changing the subject.

"That we did," one of the others guffawed, "Six cases of 'em."

Orr scowled at the man for speaking out of turn, and shot me an half-apologetic shrug.

"That's true," he stated. "Forgive Marcus: they just arrived on-station this morn… at the beginning of this shift."

I nodded once again, and gestured towards the casino. "I suggest we get everyone outfitted and _roughly_ trained on how to handle their weapon as soon as possible, then. Before the Consortium returns, and in greater numbers."

I then turned to my half-brother. "See if Shifty can salvage anything from that mech. Its loss is a blow to the Consortium on this level, to be sure, and could be a boon to the Arrows if we can get it functional again. Set, I'd take getting its cannon set up in an emplacement."

After he nodded in acknowledgement, another thought occurred to me. "Isn't that new slave of yours a coder?"

"My new…. _Set_ , I forgot about her," Khentu sighed. "Gods, this is _karking_ ridiculous. Don't know if she is or not, we'll see... there's not much left of this thing to salvage, beyond spare parts."

"See what they can do," I sighed. "I'm placing you in charge of the thing."

" _Gee_ , thanks, big brother," Khentu replied cheekily as Orr and I were walking away. "I hope your amp splits that sack of shit you think with in half!"

My left hand moved, and a _small_ orb knocked him off his balance for a moment. It probably stung _me_ more than him, but it was still worth it.

"Your uncle mentioned you were a biotic," Orr said approvingly, but his face then twisted in a sign of concern. "I'm guessing you've still got the old L2 Implants?"

"Salvaged L1," I answered him, my exhaustion bleeding through into the words. The Earth-born stopped short, his expression turning to one of incredulity and wonder.

"Jesus H. Christ, kid," he exclaimed, "I didn't think _anybody_ still used those fucking things. Holy Hell, you must be… that must be…"

"I manage," I answered him, annoyed at his gawking. With a few hurried steps, Orr was back at my side as we were entering the casino.

"I… that is, we…. I can probably get a new amp for you… sir," he stated, and there was a tone of respect in his voice that had not been there before. "Won't be anything fancy, of course, but it won't threaten to _kill_ you every time you make something float."

I paused and regarded him closely for a moment.

Who was this man, who could snap his finger and guns and technology would appear from seemingly nowhere? Who on Earth had Uncle convinced to support a nobody gang on Omega? And perhaps more importantly, what had he promised in order to _secure_ said support?

And what would Orr ask of _me_ in return for such a favor?

"That… I would appreciate that, _Hyksos_ Orr," I answered finally. "But first, let us get weapons in the hands of my warriors, and train them how _not_ to kill themselves with them."

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Some more progression for the Blood Arrows, some backstory on their weird religion, and some practical consequences of being human-centric racists. Also we are introduced to the POV of the elder brother Ptolemy.**

 **More exciting story to come, so please stay tuned, and as always, your reviews/comments/suggestions/constructive criticisms are always welcome! Even if it's something as simple as "Good job," your reviews make my day!**

 **ROCK ON, EVERYBODY!**

 **-Tusken1602**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

BJ Hanssen: Having Laila is a fun tie-in for the AR-Universe, kind of a "what almost was" thing. As far as Orr goes... I think this chapter gives you more of a hint of who he is...

seabo76: Yeah, I haven't been getting notifications from FF, either, so I'm hoping that get fixed soon! Khentu's not so much "chummy" with aliens, as much as "doesn't hate them," which is still enough to set him apart from most of the Blood Arrows.


	5. Act 1: Take the Docks

**Broken Vessel**

 _(Laila Adonis)_

 ** _Location_** _:_ Desert Sands Casino, Doru, Omega

* * *

Khentu leaned against the doorway, watching my progress with something like amusement on his face as he spoke. "When we take the docks, I will need you to hack the consoles before the Brotherhood severs the hardlines."

I nodded quietly as I selected a gauntlet from the pile of scrap armor that would _probably_ work. The breastplate Khentu had given me was clearly designed for a male with a _much_ broader waist than mine, but it was better than nothing at all. Over the past week, the Arrows had launched raids and attacks against almost all of their smaller neighbors, recruiting as many humans as possible to swell their ranks.

The fate of the former owners of the various Turian, Batarian, and Asari armors that were in front of me was a subject I had not broached. But the good thing about this little war the Arrows had started was that there was certainly no lack of choices when it came to the protection. Now it was all about finding quality pieces amongst the mostly-trash pile.

"What model consoles will I be hacking?" I asked, "Hellion? Binary Helix?"

"No idea," Khentu shrugged.

I sighed quietly. It was unhelpful, but at least he was being honest, I supposed. I tried again: "Do they use a NDC-93 network or the older BH12-85?"

"No idea," He repeated.

I felt my mandibles twitch in a grimace. "How long will I have before they sever the line?"

Khentu broke eye contact for a moment, and then looked back up with a sour look on his features.

"Let me guess," I sighed, taking a chance, "You have no idea."

"Got it in one," Khentu answered, breaking into a shameless grin. "We'll be leaving in little over three hours. Find what you can, and meet me back at our rooms."

He turned and shut the door behind him, leaving me and the other two slaves alone in the makeshift armory.

"Is he like that all the time?" I asked the Human female, who nodded in answer. "He's… _less formal_ than his brother."

"Half-brother," Tessa corrected me again. She was nice enough, but the poor girl was timid as a _wella-hare_. Apparently, her family had owed the Arrows a considerable debt, and she was serving a fixed time of servitude to pay it off. "Master Ptolemy _is_ kind too, though. Very thoughtful, and not at all rough when he… when we….at night, I mean."

Her cheeks flushed red, and she suddenly couldn't look me in the eye. I opened my mouth to reply, but was interrupted by a _crash_ and clatter of armor pieces from the other side of the room.

The big male Batarian kicked a few pieces from the overturned box aside, and then picked up an Asari-made shoulder-piece with a toothy grin. I didn't know Jaye's full Batarian name, but then again, neither did Tessa, and the two of them had served Ptolemy Emrys for almost five years.

He looked over at us, and gestured to the collar on his neck.

"But I don't think Master Khentu treats us like slaves," Tessa answered. Apparently the two of them had established some kind of sign-language communication of their own, which I could only _vaguely_ understand. "Do your job right, and don't do anything stupid, and he always has a smile and a kind word."

Jaye cocked his head slightly forward and to the left, tracing his finger to frame his face. Tessa's skin flushed a deeper shade of crimson-red and picked up a rusted piece of metal to half-heartedly throw at the offending Batarian.

"It's _not_ just because he… he wants to… He's kind to _you_ too, you insufferable man!"

Jaye broke into another wide grin, placing one hand on his chest and mimicking the same gesture with the other. Tessa looked down on the ground, completely mortified at the apparent innuendo that escaped me entirely.

"Anyway," she continued, pointedly _not_ looking at the Batarian make what I did recognize as several lewd gestures, "Master Khentu has always been more at ease around aliens than the rest of them. Usually works with a crew of them, in fact. Not recently though. It's his mother's influence, I reckon."

"That he stopped working with aliens?" I asked, trying to keep up with the fast, clipped tones of the Human woman.

"No, that he's comfortable around them," she corrected. "She was a dancer up on Afterlife, they say. _Haty-a_ Mentu didn't know she was pregnant, you see. But when he discovered she had a child, and that it was _his_ child, he went right into the middle of Afterlife, guns blazing, and stole the two of them back from Aria T'Loak herself!"

"I…see," I answered slowly, not believing for a second that the elderly, slightly balding man that told me he was giving me to his son had ever taken on the Black Queen of Omega in single combat. But it didn't really matter, I supposed, and now she was too far along in the story to go back and seek clarification.

"…And then Master Khentu stayed in the Asari brothel for about… oh, I guess a full year, while the _Pharaoh_ ," and she made a small gesture when saying the title, "and Master Mentu fought to secure Little Egypt. That's what my _da_ told me anyway, when I was just a little slip of a girl. Anyway, I guess living up with Asari for a year is enough to make anybody comfortable around aliens. Never saw the appeal of the Blues myself, with their weird… mind-thing," she shuddered involuntarily before her eyes went wide and she turned back to me. "Um… no offense meant, of course."

"None taken," I said, failing to see how I was supposed to take offense at her fear of Asari. "And… Master Ptolemy?"

She shook her head.

"Grew up his whole life with his father. But he's… kind enough, in his own way. Noble, I guess the old'uns would have said: takes care of his own, he does. Doesn't let Batty Hattie beat _us_ the same way she whips the rest of the slaves at the Pyramid."

A grimace and her hand straying to the small of her back clearly told of less-than-pleasant memories of this 'Batty Hattie', who I made a mental note to avoid in the future.

Two taps of metal drew our attention, and Jaye made a series of gestures, the joking smile on his face replaced with thoughtful contemplation.

"He says he would have been sold to the mines without Master Ptolemy," Tessa translated. "And he knows how to inspire and reward loyalty. Course, Jaye would say that, wouldn't he? Master Ptolemy is actually letting him _fight_ in this next raid."

Jaye caressed the rifle he was holding as though it was a small infant. The weapon was an older Prophet-model rifle, or at least, it _had been_ , in a former life, but it looked serviceable enough.

"You and I won't need weapons, though," Tessa was continuing on, "I'm just going to help patch up thems that's hurt, and you're the expert slicer! Not like we're gonna be doing any real _fighting_."

"Then why are they giving us armor?" I managed to bite back just in time, my mandibles working in involuntary pity at the naiveté of a girl who had _clearly_ never been in a firefight. I know I would have felt much better with a weapon, but I thought it was too soon in our relationship to ask Khentu for one.

Still….

"Hey Jaye," I called out to the Batarian, "I think I can help to cut down the heat build-up on that thing. You want me to take a look?"

* * *

 **Omega's Child**

 _(Khentu Emrys)_

 **Location** : Doru District, Omega

* * *

The Brotherhood of the Fallen had their own weird religion, worshipping their ancestors or some other such shite, but whatever it was, it didn't fail to inspire even the unarmored fighters facing us to stand and fight. Sure, they were outnumbered, outgunned, and outmaneuvered, but you had to admire how inconvenient they made it to kill them.

The skirmishes and fights of the past few weeks, apart from perhaps the Consortium's unsuccessful push to retake the Warrens, had been small enough to escape the attention of a larger gang like the Brotherhood. That was everyday life on Omega: gangs rose fell, combined, and were wiped out in the space of a few months. The Blood Arrows were unique in their comparative longevity as a gang, but we were still small players when compared to _centuries_ -old gangs such as the Cresting Wave or the Hunters of Shadows. The Brotherhood might not have been quite as old as that, but their rivals usually were bigger gangs such as the White Tigers, or the Talons.

Today, the combined might of the Blood Arrows was descending on their most valuable asset: the Doru Lower Docks. A gang's possession of their own docking complex opened opportunities of trade and travel beyond Omega. It meant that, aside from paying a tithe to Aria, a gang could sell and trade its wares beyond merely the other districts: they could trade with the Outer Terminus, and the Core Worlds themselves. Apart from the obvious revenue that such a possession guaranteed, control of one of the station's many docks was a status symbol that set small-time thugs apart from the major players of the station.

Nasser Emrys was sending the rest of the gangs a statement, and he was writing it in Brotherhood blood.

"AKs, push forward, push forward!" My father's voice came over the channel, urging the Arrows of Knesset onward. All three sub-gangs of the Blood Arrows had joined with the mother organization for this assault. Far above, the Jackals were loping from rooftop to rooftop, their undulating yips and howls making them worthy of their wild namesake.

 _"KOOM! Koom! Koom!"_ The war cry of the Pit Vipers rose and fell like drums from the Underverse as the armored figures surged forward, melee weapons in-hand. I could see Bomazi now in armor carefully painted to mimic bloodstains. Of course, it might have also been from the two Turians he had skewered with that massive spear he held. The melee-focused idiots were taking higher casualties than the other groups, but didn't seem to mind.

"Cover their advance!" my father roared, bringing his Avenger rifle to his shoulder. "Keep up the pressure!"

The Brotherhood fighters faltered: if they moved to fall back, the Jackals' snipers popped them off as they exited cover. Those who put their heads up to fire at the advancing Vipers lost them to the sheer storm of bullets the Arrows' new weapons could send downrange. And those who cowered in cover soon found themselves fighting Viper knives and blades at point-blank range.

And yet, fight they did: The Brotherhood was pushed back, street by street, building by building. What had begun as a careful withdrawal on their part soon devolved into a panicked rout, spurred on by our bullets and our blades. Our main force was centered around a series of armored trucks, whose plating and armaments had been supplied by Orr and his… cohorts? Comrades? Cadre? I tried to find a different word than 'thugs,' and was unsuccessful in the attempt. They were fighters, that could not be denied, and skilled ones at that, but they seemed to take an unnaturally fiendish delight in killing aliens, Turians and Batarians especially.

I watched one of the Earthers, as the group had come to be called by the Omega residents, turn from the advance, placing an additional bullet in the corpses littering the streets.

"DeVere, leave them!" I heard Orr shout. "We'll have plenty of _kaffirs_ to kill when this is over!"

DeVere turned away, somewhat disappointedly rejoining the advance. I shook my head in disgust. What kind of fighter wastes time in a battle making sure the fallen are _extra_ dead?

"Mentu, Bomazi, push on to the warehouses!" I heard Uncle Nasser's voice order. "Once they realize this fight is lost, they will likely try to sabotage the goods, or more likely just torch the place. Ensure that they fail."

Bomazi brought a hand up to his forehead, and then waved the rest of the Vipers on, followed by the Arrows of Knesset.

"Ptolemy, Orr, you're with me," our _Pharaoh_ continued, dismounting from one of the trucks to enter a building. Sure enough, a large open space appeared, with consoles and communication equipment scattered around the courtyard.

"Laila," I stated quietly into our private channel, "You're up."

The back of the other truck opened, and several slaves and support personnel tumbled out. Laila moved to one of the few consoles that hadn't been hit with a stray bullet, and began typing furiously, spinning up her Omni-Tool at the same time. She was already a head taller than me, but her new armor made her appear even more imposing. Not that I had intended for her to get into actual combat, but you never knew on Omega: if she was going outside our enclave, it was my duty to make sure she was as protected as possible.

" _Pharaoh!_ " came a call from one of the adjoining rooms. "Over here!"

Ptolemy and I moved to follow my uncle and the rest of his entourage as they entered what appeared to be a chapel of some kind. Small alcoves along the side of the room held burning incense sticks, as well as small bundles of paper flowers or other baubles left at the shrines. But more striking than all of these was the Turian in long robes leaning against one of the long pews, holding a hand to a wound in his gut. Even the most casual glance was enough to see that all the Medi-Gel on the station couldn't save him now.

Nasser slowly moved forward, taking a seat opposite the wheezing Turian. "You have fought bravely, Elder Morag... but it's over."

"You mock me, _human_." The word was a curse.

"Not at all," Uncle Nasser replied. "On the contrary: I wanted to you know what a worthy adversary you've been."

"All the same," the Turian spat. "You humans are all the same: you would like to believe that you are great because you are strong. You would like to think your technological innovations and ingenuity are responsible for lifting you out of the barren rock that you inhabited to the stars. But the truth? The truth that uplifted you the heavens and beyond: You are selfish and greedy."

I could see Jacob Orr flex his grip on the handle of his rifle beside my uncle.

"It was narcissism and pride that drove you to conquer, not your curiosity and your science," the wounded Turian continued, pushing himself up from his seated position, "You lie awake at nights, fearful that someone else may possess something that you do not, anxious because there may be a world that you have never visited, and you worry that there may be a race somewhere in this galaxy that does not know to fear you…"

The blow from the butt of the Orr's rifle sent Morag flat on his back, coughing up more blue blood.

Nasser looked down and sighed.

"Foolish _bird_ ," he hissed. "Your kind held total rule over an empire that spanned the known galaxy. Your race was once mighty warriors. By the strength of arm, courage of heart, and cunning minds, the Council has forged an empire without peer or rival. But you… their children… you have squandered the great inheritance left to you by your sires."

Uncle sucked in a breath, his voice becoming low and passionate as he launched into a sermon. "By lethargy, your once-strong limbs weakened. By apathy, fear enthroned itself on your once-brave hearts. By hubris, your once-sharp minds were dulled. Now you are naught but fat and spoiled children, striving to grasp and consume all within your reach; to spend riches which you did not earn. Content to grovel at the High Bitch's table for her scraps! And so, we are here to take it from you."

Elder Morag lifted his head up from the ground, his every breath an effort now. His words were forced, laced with venom and pain as his mandibles flared in defiance: "You may triumph… on the field of battle… for a day…but the Brotherhood will rally against you. And we will drive you back to that Hell of a planet from whence you came."

Nasser shrugged noncommittally. "That may be. It may be that this defeat will teach your people humility, and cause you to remember your warrior heritage. Perhaps your people will fight and find victory, as your fathers before you. Perhaps tomorrow, next year, or a hundred, perhaps a thousand years hence. But not today."

The Pharaoh of the Blood Arrows made a gesture, and Jacob Orr lifted his rifle and fired. Morag jerked once, and then lay still. Orr shouldered his rifle, and shook his head at the fallen warrior.

"Not today, squawker." The Earther growled.

Uncle Nasser slowly stood to his feet. "Orr, get things squared away here. Ptolemy, come with me: we need to coordinate our forces and prepare for their counterattack."

The two of them turned and left the building, using the communication equipment in the lead truck to deploy forces and plan our next steps, I guessed. The Blood Arrows had a dock. I shook my head in slight disbelief. If anybody had told me that we would, even a month ago, I would have called them a damn liar. And yet, here we were, in a Brotherhood HQ, with a docking complex of our very own.

Jaye appeared at my side, rifle in hand. He apparently hadn't found a helmet in the slaves' dumpster dive, but that didn't' surprise me much: there wasn't much call in the Arrows for four-eyed helmets, and from what I understood of their physiology, they couldn't just _shut_ two of them to adapt to a human helmet, not without wreaking havoc with their balance and depth perception.

"Jaye," I nodded at the Batarian, "You did good work today."

The big Batarian put a hand on his chest and pantomimed polishing his armor.

"Yeah, Ptolemy's going to get himself killed wearing that fancy mirrored bullseye he calls armor," I agreed. "Guess it just falls to us to keep him alive, doesn't it?"

"Hey! You!" We both started in surprise, then turned to see what the hell Orr was so furious about. He was staring at Jaye, or more specifically, at the rifle in his hands. He came forward, ripping off his helmet and tossing it to one of his cronies.

"Who the _fuck_ gave this bloody _wasteyute_ a gun?"

"Hey, hey!" I called out, putting a hand out to stop him. "His master did! Fuck, we're all on the same side!"

"Like _hell_ I'm on the same side as a squint!" Orr hissed, and his skin was flushing beet-red.

"He's my _brother's_ slave," I explained, still not understanding why he would care. Armed slaves weren't common, sure, but they weren't rare either. Especially if they were being used as bodyguards, which was basically what Jaye was to Ptolemy.

"I don't care if he belongs to Jesus H. Christ, no _fucking mook_ carries a gun in my battalion!"

Before I could answer, Orr strode forward and grabbed the weapon out of the Batarian's hands. He looked positively livid, and a giant vein had appeared in his neck and seemed to be traveling across his forehead as he slapped the smaller figure across the face with the back of his armored hand. Jaye went down, bleeding from a split in his lip, but still exchanged an equally irate glare with the Earthborn above him.

"You eye-ballin' me, _kaffir_?" Orr sneered, "Try it, oh yeah, just try somethin', ya fuckin…"

That was as far as he got before Jaye shot to his feet, driving his thumbs into the man's exposed throat in a savage jab, right where the chin met his neck. Orr staggered back, gagging. Had Orr been a Batarian, that would have been a killing blow, I judged, based on the location of the strike. As it was, it did elicit the Human's vomiting reflex, as Orr sent his breakfast over his armored boots.

A lot of things happened in very rapid succession. The first was that Orr's cronies immediately drew weapons, intent on gunning down the now-unarmed slave where he stood. On instinct, I stepped forward, my barriers actually deflecting a pistol shot from the bearded one… Marcus, my subconscious reminded me of his name. The pistol's single shot took down nearly _all_ of my barriers, but it was enough to make him pause.

The next second, every Arrow in the place had a gun trained on the white-armored figures. I saw Chang and the Dogs walking left to get behind them, surrounding them completely.

"Step aside, kid," Marcus growled. "I'm wasting this motherfucker."

"I don't take orders from you," I growled right back, taking a step forward to lend weight to my words, a hand on my weapon. "Who the _fuck_ do you think you are, shooting at _me!?_ If anybody is shooting anyb-"

"What is the _meaning_ of this!?" Uncle Nasser's booming voice cut me off. He and Ptolemy had returned and were standing in the doorway. Jaye's head went from its defiant position to one of instant subservience, inclining as far to the left as he could.

"This FUCKER struck the Captain!" one of the Earthers whined. "KILL HIM!"

"Mighty _Pharaoh_ ," I cut in, bowing my head to match my tones, " _Hyksos_ Orr struck this slave without permission, casting disrespect on _Hyksos_ Emrys, and his possessions." I sent another nod to Ptolemy. "The slave struck back in defense of his master's honor, and then-"

"He struck back?" Uncle Nasser asked quietly, interrupting me before I could say that one of the Earthers had shot _me_. When I nodded in answer, he turned to the white-clad Earthers. "Seize him."

"NO!" Ptolemy hissed stepping forward as two of them grabbed the now unresisting Jaye. " _Pharaoh_ ," he said in a more even tone, "Uncle: He struck my slave first."

"No squint strikes a human without repercussions!" Marcus interrupted. "We wanna see some goddamn _punishment_!"

Ptolemy whirled, and the Earther was staring down the barrel of my brother's pistol. "And what if I killed you where you stand, _Outsider_? As 'punishment' for interrupting your betters?"

Now my own gun was in my hand, but rather than aiming it at one of the standing figures, I took a step forward and jammed the barrel against Orr's head where he was still on his hands and knees, _willing_ his breath to come back. "Or for shooting his betters. Fucker shot me when I got between them."

Ptolemy's expression went from enraged to murderous, and only our Pharaoh's third interruption probably saved the asshole's life.

"Enough!"

Guns were slowly lowered at the Pharaoh's tone of unquestioning command.

" _Mister_ Riley," Uncle addressed Marcus, "If you or any of your cadre speak out of turn again, it will be the very last words they utter in this life. Do I make myself clear?"

Marcus blinked twice in surprise, and then nodded wordlessly, proving he wasn't _altogether_ without intelligence.

Nasser turned back to my half-brother. "Nephew… you know our laws. Had he merely struck your slave, I would have punished only him, as I shall still. But the fact remains that a slave struck a freeman. And the punishments for such a crime are clear, and irrefutable."

Ptolemy stared at our uncle, and his mouth set in a grim line, and I could see his fingers flex and relax into balled fists. There was also the tinge of ozone in the air, which was always a sign of a biotic reaching the end of his temper. "You would side with this… _Outsider,_ over your own flesh and blood?"

"The blow was given before witnesses, in full fucking view of the whole _karking_ station!" Uncle's voice went shrill for a moment. "You know what must be done!"

Ptolemy's glare matched the _Pharaoh's_ almost exactly, the familial similarities now suddenly clearer than I had ever seen before. For a very long moment, there was silence in the courtyard. Then his pistol came up in a blindingly-fast motion, and a shot rang out. Most of the left side of Jaye's head disappeared in a puff of red, and the body fell limp from the two white-armored figures who had been holding him.

Ptolemy replaced the pistol on his hip, his gaze never leaving our uncle's. "And Orr? And the slime who shot my brother?"

Uncle Nasser turned to stare at the still-coughing and hacking figure, and then back to my brother. "He will pay the full price of the slave back to you, as restitution. As for the other, your brother appears to be intact and unwounded. Did anyone else witness the shot?"

I ground my teeth, unsurprised when no one said a fucking thing. My own slave stirred, then dipped her head when I twitched mine in a shake. No one would believe her, and she'd probably just get killed for saying shit. I glanced at Ptolemy, found him staring back at me. We shared a furious look for a few seconds, then he turned back to our Uncle, his shoulder's stiff as he bowed woodenly. "Thank you for your judgement, _Pharaoh_."

The acknowledgement was spoken through clenched teeth, and my brother spun on his heel, striding from the courtyard. Chang and the rest of the Dogs shouldered their rifles and fell in behind him. The Earthers left Jaye's corpse where he had fallen, and moved to help their captain to a medic. Some part of me hoped that it would be Tess, and that she would take her vengeance on the smug asshole.

"Spirits." I looked left to see Laila staring at the body of the Batarian. "He… he killed him. Just like that."

"Our 'beloved' Pharaoh's laws declare that the punishment for a slave striking a freedman is death, by torture," I explained. "They would have staked him out and made him suffer. This was… was…"

"Merciful." She murmured through her helmet.

"Something like that," I sighed, shaking my head. "Fucking Omega."

"Fucking Omega," she nodded in agreement, already turning back to the console data she was now copying over to an external server.

* * *

 **Epilogue**

 **Location** : Talons Base, Tuhi District, Omega

* * *

Nyreen Kandros, known to most on Omega by the moniker 'Red', glanced at the message on her screen, took a sip of her tea, and then read it again just to confirm what her eyes were telling her. It didn't seem possible, and yet there it was, staring at her face. The portion of the Lower Doru Docks once owned by the Brotherhood had been seized by Blood Arrows. Said Brotherhood forces were in full retreat towards Market Zone, and there weren't any indications of reinforcements being brought up from Cala.

The rest of her reading was interrupted by the chime on the door. She glanced up at the door, flicking her mandibles in thought before calling, "Enter."

Alpha Bern of the White Tigers entered, swaying slightly on his feet. He was still in armor, showing his good sense, but from his motions he'd clearly been well into the celebratory drinking.

"Ahh, my noble ally!" He called, a little louder than necessary, offering her a heavy flask. "Let us toast to this victory!"

"Have you seen this latest report?" She asked, disregarding the offer entirely. "The Blood Arrows have taken the Lower Doru Docks from the Brotherhood... meaning we have new neighbors."

"The Blood… Arrows have… hah!" The bear man almost doubled over with laughter, his accent thickening as he wheezed. "I had no idea… you were such a comedian!"

"I'm not." She replied flatly.

With an effort the man regained control of himself and lowered himself into a nearby chair, which allowed him to study the turian's face closely. "You're serious."

"Always," Red stated, shoving a datapad at the seated Human. "Not even three hours ago. Kith is consolidating his people around the Market Zone, protecting the lifts down to Cala, but so far the Arrows aren't pushing farther."

"Hell…" The man marveled, scrolling down on the message. He sobered up fairly quickly, pursing his broad lips as his beard quivered as he read. "How the fuck did… They're nobodies: petty Doru thugs, shaking down fruit vendors for protection money. 'Eight armored vehicles, enemy numbers estimated at… One thousand?"

"That's not all," Red stated, tapping her own data pad with a claw. "Watch the recording."

The man scrolled down further, pressing the corresponding button. After a moment, he stiffened, and then looked back at the Turian, his countenance now totally sober.

"Omni-Shields, collapsible pylons, Avenger rifles…Alliance-grade gear," he shook his head. "Someone is backing them. A very serious someone."

"I agree," Red nodded. "The question is, who?"

"Perhaps Sederis is using him to enlarge her zone of control?" Bern thought aloud, raising an eyebrow.

Red shook her head. "No chance, Nasser would never work for or with an Asari, and Sederis would contract to the Wave, if anyone. He does pose another problem, however. Apparently, he's giving refuge to the True Sons retreating back down to Kima, or at least the human members. Most of them have chosen to join him and his weird little cult."

"Rats leaving a sinking ship," Bern grunted darkly. "I wish we'd closed our net faster."

"We did the best we could," Red spread her clawed hands, "In either case, it's a problem now. How many do you think they can get?"

The Human shrugged. "Hundred, maybe. Probably enough to replace any losses they took taking the docks. But I think that it will be a net disadvantage in the long run. There are simply not enough of my race on this station, something that even the True Son bastards realized soon enough."

Red leaned over and activated the holo-table, bringing up an image of Omega Station. She zoomed in on one particular area, the various territory and claims of Omega's myriad gangs illuminated in various colors.

"The question is, how do we respond?" she stated aloud. "I've already told Kith we don't have any units to hire out to him. Not after taking this place," she gestured to the walls around them. Bern nodded thoughtfully.

"He's not likely to find many who can lend him aid," he agreed. "The Cresting Wave and the Shadows are all sending their best units to help T'Ravt secure Gozu. Rich as the old Turian is, I doubt he can match the Xenthan queen's price."

Red gestured to an area glowing red on the holo-map. "The Arrows have already hit the Kuaka slave pens. They could be in a position to hit our lower-levels soon."

"Nasser is a tedious little man who enjoys the sound of his own voice," Bern scoffed. "He's been worshipped as a living god by his people for so long that he has begun to believe it himself. Coupled with his new weapons, this will make him arrogant as ever. He has absorbed a few gutter-trash and launched a surprise attack against the Brotherhood, and now he will soon launch another attack, believing himself invincible."

Red nodded slowly, staring at the datapad, and then at the map.

"The Brotherhood underestimated them, and up until now, that has been the Blood Arrow's greatest advantage," she stated slowly. "We won't make the same mistake."

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **So the first real blow of The Blood Arrow's rise has been struck, and already there are casualties. What the repercussions of today's events turn out to be... remains to be seen.**

 **Also a fun cameo by Alpha Bern and Nyreen Kandros, who have just taken the last True Son stronghold in the Tuhi District (Chapter 19 of AR-Ronin, if anybody's interested in following between the two stories). **

**Thanks everybody for reading, Katkiller-V for editing, as always, all reviews/thoughts/comments/suggestions/constructive criticisms are welcome below! Please take a second to review, if it's a simple, "Good job, I liked it." It always makes my day to hear from you guys! **

**Rock on, my friends!**

 **Tusken1602**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

hillbillydeluxe - It will be a challenge, especially after today's events. And I'm excited about Laila's character as well. We will be getting into her backstory in due time, not to worry!

BJ Hanssen - What makes you think that? ;P

EE-RAH!


	6. Act 1: Conspiracies

**INTERCEPTED TRANSMISSION.**

 **SOURCE: DORU DISTRICT, LOCAL DESIGNATION "LITTLE EGYPT"**

 **-BEGIN TRANSCRIPTION-**

 _User 1: They have made their presence on this station intolerable._

 _User 2: I agree, Mentu. But whatever our opinions on them, this Orr has wormed his way into the position of our Pharaoh's favorite. That makes him untouchable._

 _User 1: It does not make him immune to unfortunate accidents._

 _User 2: Careful, brother… killing him risks angering Nasser's mysterious benefactor as well. For all we know, our Pharaoh could be receiving his orders from the Black Queen herself._

 _User 1: Bah. Impossible._

 _User 2: I do not say this because it is likely, I say it because we do NOT know it to be false._

 _User 1: Hmmm… We must auger the truth of the matter, and to do that will require resources beyond our usual intelligence sources. We do not know which of them may be loyal to my brother or to the Arrows of Knesset foremost._

 _User 2: What do you propose, then?_

 _User 1: I have my ways. But we have stayed on this channel here too long. The very walls of this station have ears, and the doors have eyes._

 _User 2: Well spoken. Bomazi out._

 **=END TRANSMISSION=**

 **MARK OF INTEREST: CATEGORY EIGHT**

 **FORWARD TO: AFTERLIFE COMMAND CENTER**

* * *

 **Omega's Child**

 _(Khentu Emrys)_

 **Location: Afterlife District, Omega**

"What are we doing here, again?" Laila asked dubiously, stepping over a body that may or may not have been dead, but we weren't stopping long enough to see.

"Ostensibly," I answered, "my father is sending me to meet with some ex-True Son assholes to offer them safe passage to Little Egypt, where they can join our merry band."

She gave me a disbelieving look, "Are you?"

I shrugged. "If they're there, I'll pass the word. We can always use more bodies to block bullets."

"And the… other reason?"

I shrugged. "For once, my father has seen fit to utilize the fact that I'm one of the few Arrows who actually has any alien friends. I'm meeting a few of them here: at Afterlife."

The Turian gawked and stared as we made our way through the crowd all gathering to get into Omega's iconic nightclub. Most of the people around us gave us arch looks when I pushed past, getting even more severe the closer we got to the club.

"First time in the Afterlife district? I asked, noticing her expression.

"Once before," she replied quietly, "Two masters ago."

We reached the massive entrance before I could enquire as to her prior owners, the elcor bouncer looked down at us cutting through the mass of people gathering in line. His expression seemed to be disapproving at first, but then the gills spread into a elcor grin. "With joviality: Greetings, Khen."

"With joyful exaltation," I answered, "Hello, Ewido! Sincere concern: How did those meds work for your cousin?

"With relief: They served their purpose well. He is no suffering from the infection. Gratitude: you and your turian may enter Afterlife."

"Celebration," I replied, bowing at the hips, "Anytime you need anything more, you know how to get ahold of me."

Once he shifted aside, I moved past the giant elcor, Laila following close behind. She continued to prove her intelligence by waiting until the door was closed behind us before asking, ""I take it you two have a history?"

"We swiped a med-van with elcor antibiotics," I shrugged. "His cousin needed the meds, so I sold him what he needed."

"I take it he didn't need to know that you were the ones who stole them in the first place?

"Welcome to Omega," I grinned back at her as we exited the mildly crowded entry hall and moved into the titanic club proper, "Now: we're looking for a group of Humans lead by a guy named 'Ratchet' MacLeod. He's supposed to be carrying a modified power wrench. Keep your eyes out for-"

"Found them." Laila interrupted, jutting her chin in the direction of a fast-gathering crowd, centered around a group of Humans squaring off with a heavily-armored Batarian leaning on a cane. At the Batarian's side was a Quarian in oddly heavy armor... Xenthan maybe, her suit seemed to lack the extra crap the suit rats needed.

"Your fancy armor don't mean crap here, alien!" One of the True Son rejects was screeching. "Aria doesn't like shootouts in her place!"

"Yep," I sighed, "Looks like our idiots."

I took a step forward, planning on intervening, only to have Laila throw an arm in front of me and haul me backwards.

"The Quarian," She hissed, holding me against her front. "She's the look of a Trophy Taker. Trust me, sir: If a fight is about to break out, you want nothing to do with one of those."

I frowned, then settled back to watch as the Batarian looked up and down at my contact, seemingly not impressed with what he saw.

"Move," he stated simply, his voice deep and garbled by the helmet speakers... on purpose probably. Neither he or the bucket next to him had any markers on their armor, these weren't people who wanted to be identified.

"I don't think so, squint!" The man with the wrench snarled, "We don't like your kind here! And we aint never had a bucket girl service us before!"

"I'm rethinking the whole recruitment angle here," I stated slowly. Anybody stupid enough to pick a fight in Afterlife of all places was not someone we were interested in having in the Arrows, and I was 100% sure my father would agree with me. Laila, on the other hand, said nothing, her eyes widening and her mandibles flaring in an inscrutable expression.

The Batarian murmured something low to the Quarian which I didn't understand. What I did understand, however, was the Quarian's drawing of twin daggers on her belt, blurring forwards in a dark motion, raking the curved blade in a savage slash across the leader's throat, the second one sending him spinning to his left, with a follow-up thrust to the ribs. What happened next was… even messier. Between the four-eyes' heavy cane and the Quarian's twin knives, the next four went down in about as many seconds. Most bleeding out in screaming agony, another convulsing with a crushed throat. One of the idiots apparently thought tackling an opponent in heavy armor was a good idea, and got a knife through his spine for his troubles.

"All right, all right!" Another Batarian bellowed, shoving his way through the still mostly-gawking, some-screaming crowd. This one was bearing Aria's marker, making his job clear. "Make room! Fight's over, you know the drill!"

"Come on," I murmured quietly, as more figures in Aria's getup shoved their way forwards. "We're done here, at any rate."

"Spirits," muttered Laila, dutifully following as we turned away, the sounds of the aftermath quickly swallowed up by the general noise for the club. "That was a... a thing."

"You said the Quarian was a Trophy Taker?" I asked. "Had you dealt with one before?"

She nodded wordlessly in reply.

I waited for her to get on with it, then sighed deeply when she didn't. "From where?"

"Shith," She answered finally, after seeing that I wasn't going to be placated with single-word answers. "She was in the pen next to mine. Angry, fierce, and unrelenting. That Quarian had the same bearing."

"Huh," I murmured thoughtfully. "Probably a different one: the one back there wasn't wearing a collar I could see. Unless the Batarian just has her chipped."

"More likely she's free or in his employ, sir," she replied. "Those who attempt to control a Trophy Taker... well, from what I've heard, they mostly wind up dead."

"Well then, why would they…"

"Kenny!"

" _Shit_ ," I growled under my breath, hearing precisely the _one_ voice I had hoped I wouldn't run into. Wasilla M'taza beamed brightly as she forced her way through the press towards us. She was dressed in a _very_ tight and _very_ suggestive outfit, which seemed to suggest that she had come here to party. Which made the coincidence of our meeting all the more inconvenient and annoying.

"Wazz," I nodded in greeting.

"What gives, Human?" she answered. "It's been weeks; _weeks,_ Kenny! And not a call, not so much as a Holo-Net message."

"I've been busy," I shrugged, pointedly resuming our walk towards the Lower bar.

"So I've heard," she continued undaunted, falling in step beside us. While she didn't quite have Laila's height, she still had a couple inches on me, which was a bit oddly tall for an Asari. "What the hell has been going on with the Blood Arrows? Rumor has it that you've got the Brotherhood on the run down on Doru!"

"Is that a fact?" I asked casually, and received a playful punch on the shoulder in answer.

"You _know_ it is, you giant _idiot_! All that excitement, and not a _word_ to your best friend on this station!" Then her eyes darted beyond me, falling on Laila for the first time.

"Ooh," she crooned, the imagined slight of my _not_ telling her of our most secret military plans forgotten. "Who's the turian? Is she _yours_? Oh, Khenny, I _knew_ you had great taste: she's _sexy!"_

Laila's mandibles worked in soundless mortification, but she merely bent her head low and continued walking.

"Laila Adonis, meet Wasilla M'taza," I stated in introduction, causing the turian's eyes to widen in objection.

"A pleasure, ma'am," she managed, bobbing her head politely all the same. Wasilla took two quick steps to place herself between Laila and myself, linking her arms with ours despite my attempt to dodge.

"Oh, _honey_ ," she purred, "the 'pleasure' is all mine."

"Wazz," I cut her off. "Stop trying to seduce my slave."

"You don't hear _her_ objecting!" Wazz answered, winking not at all subtly at a still-mortified Laila.

"See the 'slave' section of my previous sentence," I retorted, smiling despite my annoyance. "While you're here, there _is_ something you could help me with: Information."

"Oh, that could _cost_ you," Wasilla answered immediately, almost _bobbing_ up and down in anticipation. We had exited the main floor of Afterlife and were in one of the many side-halls leading down to the Lower Bar, so we no longer needed to shout to make ourselves heard.

"You don't get to sleep with Laila," I answered even before she could make the demand. "Simple credits-for-answers deal: an even 'Dredd Chit in exchange for the answer to a question."

Wasilla pouted for a moment at my conditions, but a hundred credits was a hundred credits, and we both knew it. "Depends on the question," she said finally.

"I'm looking for one of Aria's people," I answered, "An Asari by the name of Teyla: I'm pretty sure she's one of the Knives; carries a modified Viper?"

"The Villa Viper?" Wasilla screeched in surprise, jerking her arms free and gaping at us before forcing her voice back down to a normal register. "What the _deeps_ do you want with _her_?"

"You know her, then?"

"Only enough that I wouldn't want to fuck with her," Wazz replied, showing the palms of both of her hands. "One of _the most_ frigid bitches I've ever met: the rumor is that her sire is a _vorcha_. As in, an _actual_ vorcha. As in, her mother _literally_ fucked a –"

"I _am_ aware of your species' methods of copulating," I cut her off. "Can you tell us where she _is_?"

"I can do you one better," she smiled. "I can take you straight to her."

I raised a hand, gesturing the way forward, to which she replied by sampling setting a hand on her hip and tapping her foot.

"Uh-uh," she shook her head. "Payment first."

"Aaand there she is," I grinned back, thumbing the appropriate chit and flipping it over to her. She caught it deftly, and with a practiced gambler's motion, the chit disappeared. It was impressive, given just how much of her was exposed at the moment.

"Follow me, lover," she grinned, and spun on her heel. She threw a look over her shoulder and winked theatrically. "You too, Khen."

" _Asari_ …" Laila mumbled, shooting me a look. I shrugged in agreement, and followed her back the we way we had come, back into the rhythmic, gyrating throng that filled the main floor of Afterlife.

Wasilla led us along the outskirts of the dance floor, until we came to one of the private rooms that could be rented at an hourly rate. Wasilla pressed a number combination on the pad, and the panel went from red to green.

"And I assume it's just a coincidence that you _happen to_ know the code to the private party where my contact _happens_ to be?" I asked.

She rolled her shoulders and tilted her head in an Asari style shrug. "I just know where all the best parties are."

The door opened, revealing a surprisingly-expansive room, occupied mostly with low-lying couches, filled with Asari, many of whom were smoking from a large hookah pipe in the center of the room. I heard Laila's breath catch in her throat, as most of the Asari were topless, or outright naked. Pairs and trios were off in corners, in various stages of making out, or with eyes as black as the void as they melded with one another.

As far as orgies went, it was pretty tame, but for someone who I was guessing _didn't_ grow up in an Asari brothel, I imagine the sight must have been something else entirely.

Wasilla, on the other hand, reached a hand up to shed her own meagre garment, and sauntered forward into the press of bodies. I drew myself up and found a neutral spot on the wall on which to focus. Laila chose to drop her eyes to the floor. With her dark skin it was hard to tell, but I thought I could see a flush creep across the skin below her plates.

From the same press that Wasilla had disappeared into, came a familiar-looking figure. While she wasn't in her armor, or anything at all, rather, but the face was still the unflinching expression that had stared down an armed mob without so much as blinking.

"Come to collect on that debt, Human?" she asked, her hands gesturing down to her body suggestively.

"In a sense," I stated, only after taking a deep breath and locking eye contact with her, throttling my body's instant desire. "I am looking for information. Favor earned for favor owed."

She nodded slowly, and then picked up a robe that was draped over the back of a nearby couch, and slipped her arms through, wrapping the thin garment around herself. It didn't really hide anything so much as it emphasized everything, but it was a step up.

"A favor for a favor," she said slowly. "That's the currency of the Terminus. Sit down, if you like."

I slowly made my way next to her, sitting down on one of the few empty couches in the room. Laila moved to stand behind me, while Teyla reached over to a bottle, and poured two glasses of the liquid, offering one to me. I accepted it graciously, and tossed the shot back in a single gulp. I didn't immediately recognize the liquid, except vaguely as an Asari whisky.

"I hear you Blood Arrows have been busy," Teyla said after following suit.

"People hear a lot of things on this station," I shrugged.

Blue lips pursed, "So what information were you looking for, Arrow?"

"Six weeks ago, our _Pharaoh_ Nasser came back to the station, after a long visit to Earth," I began. "He's brought with him a _bunch_ of real professional assholes. Only trouble is, they really know what they're doing: they have deep pockets, and tons of cast-off Alliance gear."

Teyla frowned. "Who's backing them?"

"That's the thing," I rubbed the back of my neck, "We have no idea. Somebody with an axe to grind with everyone who isn't a Human, apparently. Either that, or they have a penchant for hiring racist pricks to be their enforcers."

"And why have you come up here to Afterlife?"

"We took over the Brotherhood Docks three weeks ago," I said slowly. Teyla only nodded at that. We both knew that she, and everyone else on this station, knew that. "Since then, twice a week like clockwork, Nasser has used the Dock's Quantum Communicator to talk to…whoever the fuck is giving him all this. And like clockwork, he comes out of the Comms room with another _bright idea_ that he has 'just had.' And we go raid the Taiga Horde, or the Eight-Zero Demons, and more black crates appear at the Lower Docks, bearing Alliance serial numbers."

"And you want us to…" She trailed off, making me say it all.

"Our _Pharaoh_ … leader, is having his strings pulled by some Outsider, like a gods-damned puppet, and the rest of the Arrows do as he says," I hissed. "There are many who, like me, would know who's tune we're dancing to."

"Ahh," Teyla nodded, understanding coming into her eyes. "You want our people to listen in."

"It's no secret you could if you put your minds to it," I nodded. "Assuming of course, that Aria doesn't already know. It's equally prudent for her to know who could be important enough to be giving Nasser Emrys orders."

Teyla poured us another shot of alcohol each as she considered that, a thoughtful expression on her face. After nearly a minute, she replied, "I'll do some digging, see what I can come up with."

"Thank you," I nodded, "I must say, I'm very impressed. And somewhat disappointed."

The Asari paused, mid-drink, to glare at me. "Come again?"

"Did you think all Humans can't tell Asari apart?" I asked. "The two maidens in that corner are the same as the couple at the bar."

The eyes narrowed, now, darting around the room.

"How long have we been Melded?" I asked. "Was it when you handed me my drink, or did you touch me when I didn't notice?"

The scene of gyrating and moaning bodies now froze, and silence fell as darkness enveloped the two of us. Tayla was _now_ clad in the black armor from my memory of the riot, though she remained lounging back on the couch.

"Now it's my turn to be impressed," she admitted, cocking her head a little, as if she was only now seeing me. "Someone has taught you clarity… for a Human."

"Your tits aren't _that_ good enough to be distracting," I baited. "Even the blind Skyhawk knows the scent of home."

The phrase rolled off my tongue in perfect Thessian, the language of my childhood coming rushing back into my subconscious. I knew better than to fight the meld, or try to force her out of my head through some kind of willpower bullshit: Human brains just aren't programmed to do that, while Asari meld while they're still in the crib. Memories from my childhood began flooding past us:

Playing hide-and-seek with Ptolemy.

Clawball tournaments in the courtyard.

The touch of an Asari hand.

"Who are you, boy?" came Teyla's voice, from everywhere and nowhere. I shut my eyes, useless as the gesture might have been, and strained under the mental intrusion. She was being gentle, but it was... Ra, the sheer weight of her presence almost physically _hurt._ "And where did you learn our language? Our ways?"

"I am Khentu Emrys," I stated in Thessian, a language I hadn't spoken for almost fifteen years, "the son of Shannon Kozak, lady-in-waiting to Matriarch Jadzia of the House T'laria. Thessian is my mother tongue. Now. Get out of my head."

There was an image of a young woman's face, beaming and smiling down at me. Before my heart skipped a beat and before I heard her voice, I knew that it was the face of my mother. But before I could make any reply, the darkness swelled up around me.

Spinning back to reality, I saw that we were back in Afterlife, and I was seated on the couch again, facing Teyla. I was slumped and breathing hard, while she still looked mildly intrigued.

Behind me, I could see that Laila had drawn the shotgun from my back, keeping both barrels pointed at Teyla seated next to me. Wasilla, naked from the waist up, was holding two pistols, training them on her fellow Asari's heads. The only trouble was the other nine or so occupants of the room were also holding weapons, all of them pointing in our direction.

"Now… let's back everything up again, shall we?" I asked, forcing joviality into my tone. "Hello, Teyla Villa. My name is Khentu Emrys."

Teyla's studious expression never wavered, except for a ghost of a smile that twitched the corner of her mouth.

"Shannon Kozak…" she drawled, and her hand made a waving gesture. Slowly, all the weapons came back down. I nodded at Laila, and she replaced my weapon on my back. The Asari nodded approvingly at the tall turian, then returned her attention to me.

"I knew your mother, Khentu," she said slowly. "Almost twenty years ago, now."

I didn't ask for clarification on the exact definition of "knew."

"I couldn't see it before," she continued, still staring at me. "You have a lot of your sire in your face. But…"

"My eyes are my mother's," I finished for her. "And my winning complexion as well."

Before anyone could say anything else, my brother's voice came from my omni-tool, a priority call not waiting for acceptance.

 **" _Ken, you better get back down here_." **Ptolemy's voice was hard.

Grimacing, I slowly raised my arm to the level of my mouth, still not breaking eye contact with Teyla.

"What's up, Tol?" I asked, keeping the call on external speaker.

 **" _Father just got back from a meeting with Uncle and the rest of the Arrow leaders. He's… in one of his moods_."**

Teyla raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

"Know what it was that set him off?" I asked.

 **" _It's..."_ He hesitated, something that worried me more than a little. _"A subject best broached in person_."**

"Ok..." I said slowly, and then cut the connection, nodding towards the still-staring Asari. "Got to go, I'm afraid."

Teyla nodded towards the door in answer. Wasilla went with us as we left the room, and then the door closed behind us.

"Thanks for having my back, Laila," I said to the turian once we were out of the mind-numbing _thrum_ of Afterlife. "You could've just stood there and done nothing."

"I've seen… creatures like her before, sir," Laila answered. "Once her eyes went back, I realized that she had melded with you, and that you hadn't realized it. I… just acted, I guess."

"Regardless, I owe you one," I replied. "And that goes for you too, Waz. _You_ didn't have side with us at all."

"Sure I did," the bubbly asari answered back, pinning her top back on over her shoulder. "If she hadn't liked what she had seen in your head, they've killed me too for bringing you in there."

"But…I thought…" Laila began, but then choked back her words.

"That just because they were willing to have _sex_ , we were all friends?" Waz answered for her. "Honey, you have a lot to learn about Asari. I do offer lessons, by the way…."

"Stop it," I warned, before she could solicit my slave any further. "Can you get a hold of Barco?"

"As much as anybody can," Wasilla shrugged. "What should I tell him?"

"Barca, Jesse, the Dursa twins, and Faira too, if she's available," I answered. "Everybody who's worked with us. We're gonna need the full crew."

"Ooh, sounds exciting!" Wasilla was almost bouncing again in anticipation. "What's the job?"

"I'll call with details," I replied. "I've got a feeling that things are about to get _very_ interesting with the Blood Arrows and the Doru District. I'm gonna need people I can trust: People who _don't_ have an Arrow tattooed on their foreheads."

"You got it… boss," Wasilla responded, throwing up a military-esque salute before turning and disappearing around a corner. Laila relaxed for the first time since she had joined us, and turned back to me.

"What's the plan?" she asked.

"That's what we're about to find out," I answered, with an inexplicable feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach. "Let's head back down to Doru."

* * *

 **Chosen Heir**

 _(Ptolemy Emrys)_

 **Location:** The Pyramid, Little Egypt, Doru District

"He wants to do fucking _what_?!" O'Shea's voice was accompanied by similar shouts and noises of disbelief from the rest of the AKs gathered in the room.

"Take one of the orbital stations around Urdak," my father repeated slowly.

Urdak was the first planet of the Sahrabarik system, and for the majority of the local year, when their solar orbits aligned, it was the closest planet to Omega Station. An L-class brown dwarf with a relatively low temperature, Urdak's heat and gravity made it unpopular for traditional development, but there were still stations built on the larger of its myriad moons and satellites. And it was one of these stations that apparently was our _Pharaoh's_ latest target.

"Each of those stations belong to either the Blue Suns, The Blood Pack, or the Eclipse," Nobu stated grimly. "Aria took most of the Blue Suns' stations. Sederis the rest. We're either up against them or against the Krogan."

"Which station in particular?" Hatshepsut asked, leaning forwards but for once not making her cleavage obvious.

Father brought up the holo-map to reveal the target, glancing at the name. "Hound Station."

" _Damn_ ," she hissed in answer. "Eclipse."

Another angry hum went around the room, everyone, myself included, agreeing with the whore's displeasure.

"I don't care who's backing him," Rashid added, "the Alliance themselves would be fools to take on the Eclipse."

"We are waking sleeping giant," Ivan growled in agreement.

"Surely he can't be serious," O'Shea cut in, shaking his head. "I mean, for Ra's sake, Jaroth and the Eclipse are our _neighbors_. Does he think they won't _know_ who took their station?"

"According to him," Father stated, "Once we have a station, the Arrows can use it as a staging point to bring in more supplies, equipment, and troops from Earth."

"More _Earthers_ ," spat Ivan.

"More Outsiders," I spoke up, "This plan stinks of Orr's work: He knows nothing about Omega and the balance of Power here. He's poisoned the mind of our Pharaoh, and turned his ambition into madness."

"My brother has always been mad," Father answered, waving dismissively. "The question is, what are we going to do about it?"

That prompted an argument, as each of us put forward a different plan, ranging from warning Jaroth that we would be coming, to outright defying Uncle's orders and refusing to go.

"Enough," Father stated after ten or fifteen wasted minutes, as tempers and voices really began to rise. "Is it not obvious what must be done?"

Obviously, it wasn't, but we fell silent all the same as he proceeded to tell us:

"To tackle with the Eclipse is folly and suicide of the first order," he continued. "And to meddle with the balance of power on this station so brazenly, with such… disregard for our ways… threatens to break the One Rule of Omega, and beckons the wrath of its Queen."

Grave faces all around nodded agreement.

"We must kill Orr and his cronies, yes, but we must also cut off the head of the snake. My brother has been away from this station too long. He has… become an Earther. An Outsider. A stranger wearing our Pharaoh's skin and speaking our Pharaoh's voice. That voice must be silenced, my brothers."

There was a moment of silence as we all exchanged looks. It was a matter of habit for gang members to complain about its leadership's decisions. It was another conversation entirely to contemplate a _change_ in leadership.

"We cannot challenge him openly," I finally spoke. "Bomazi and the Pit Vipers might back us, but we all know what Abdul would do, were Uncle to fall by any of our hands."

That was another sobering thought, which prompted more murmurs and nods of agreement. Abdul had spent the last eight years on this station showing that he was not someone any sane being picked a fight with, if they could avoid it. How he would react to his lover's murder, especially _towards_ his lover's murderers, was not a pleasant thought.

"And the Jackals would fight to the death to avenge their Pharaoh, which a week ago would have been no great thing," my half-brother said, speaking for the first time. "But our Pharaoh has been very careful to arm his worshippers with the first pick of the new equipment, and with the very best of armor and weapons."

"What's more, the True Sun recruits we have absorbed owe their lives to Nasser," Hatshepsut added. "While they may not love and worship the ground he walks upon, as the Jackals do, if they are pressed, I do not doubt that a great majority will back the devil they know, rather than risk throwing their lot in with a stranger."

"It is also no mistake that we AKs have been given the task of taking the station," Nobu shook his head in anger. " _When_ our cause fails, Nasser can claim to Sederis that it is the action of the Arrows of Knesset alone."

"So what is to be done?" Ivan asked, looking genuinely stumped. But then again, he had not been recruited for his creative or tactical mind

"Here is what we will do…" Father spoke up, and a plan began to take form.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **The chips begin to fall, and the carefully-balanced power base of Omega begins to tilt and sway dangerously.**

 **Hope you guys enjoyed another cameo by Kean and Co., as well as a little glimpse into Khentu's backstory.**

 **I hope to be updating this story soon, so please stay tuned for more Omega adventures!**

 **As always, your reviews/thoughts/comments/suggestions/constructive criticisms are welcome, even if it's a simple "Good Job." It always makes my day to get those notifications!**

 **ROCK ON, my friends!**

 **-Tusken1602**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

BJ Hanssen: Exactly. Jaye was more "human" to Khen and Tol than Orr will ever be, by their own standards.

seabo76 – Tol is a fun character to write, and I look forward to fleshing out the relationship between him and Khen. As for wedges… well, I think we can see the results of those.

EE-RAH!


	7. Act 1: Release the Hounds

**Omega's Child**

(Khentu Emrys)

 **Location** **: In Orbit above Urdak, Sahrabarik System, Omega Nebula**

"Stand in the door." Orr's voice brought our party to their feet, and we shuffled towards the very small door that was all that currently stood between us and the void of space.

It hadn't been easy to slip onto the remote-controlled ship, but we had managed it. The lack of a crew had been both a blessing and a curse: on the one hand, we hadn't needed to silence or kill anyone on the ship. On the other hand, the vessel hadn't been designed to hold _people_ with anything close to comfort. Even with the relative close proximity of our target, Hound Station, it had still taken six long and very uncomfortable hours to make it this far.

A sharp and ringing _clang_ , followed by a lurch, signaled our arrival. My palms were suddenly sweaty, and I could feel my heart beating like a Viper's War drum. Beside me, Laila also had her hands folded tightly in front of her. Orr had predictably objected to a Turian being included in the station assault, and it had taken our father's insistence that she be included. Orr had then insisted that he _personally_ lead a squad of his Earthers on the assault, paranoid about "the squawker's betrayal."

And thus, here we were, with Orr commanding the raid that had originally been assigned to Father. Offended, Father had backed out of the raid entirely, instead sending Ptolemy and I in his stead.

 _Lucky us_ , I thought sarcastically, checking my rifle for the thousandth time.

The door _clicked_ green, and the complete darkness was broken by a beam of light appearing and streaming into the room as the door opened. The poor Turian standing the doorway was now looking down thirty barrels.

"What the-?" That was as far as he got before Orr's pistol took him full in the face.

"Go, go, go!" The man bellowed, already leaping over the corpse

I could _sense_ Ptolemy's displeasure at the useless kill: it would have been far better to take him silently, and then be half-way across whatever docking bay in which we had landed before they knew we were here. Instead, Orr had opted for a full-on military assault as our party streamed out of the narrow doorway.

"Fan left! Fan left!" I shouted, taking out two LOKI mechs that had suddenly flared to life, their VI runtimes trying to process exactly what was happening. It wasn't exactly hard since neither was mobile yet, my gun neatly battering their heads into scrap metal.

In contrast, a nearby Asari reacted wisely by flaring a biotic throw, sending the orb of dark energy into a giant red button on the wall rather than aiming for any of us. The lights turned red, and a claxon began sounding its glaring tones.

"Make for the control room!" Orr shouted uselessly, as if we were planning on heading anywhere else. The Earther sprinted across the room as he sent shot after shot into the Asari's barrier, who wisely dove into a nearby doorway and slammed it shut behind her. Ptolemy sent an orb of his own into the metal door, sending it _clanging_ open before whoever was behind it could seal us in the hanger.

We made for the hallway, the only figure we encountered being glimpses of yellow uniforms as Asari, Salarians, and Turians retreated from our advance, only a few occasional shots being sent our way.

More worrying were the overloads and incinerates launched in our direction, the little mines detonating all over the place. With all of us pressed together so narrowly, it was almost impossible for them to miss. While not being numerous or powerful enough to one-shot any of us, it still caused us to rotate our fighters while shields and barriers recharged, which slowed our progress considerably.

Hatshepsut hissed as an overload collapsed her shields, and sent a grenade of her own around the corner in answer. While we didn't see any _bodies_ as we made our way forward, occasionally there were blood-spatters or drips on the walls and floors, proving that at least _some_ of our shots and grenades were being effective.

The first thing I noticed was a _sudden_ decrease in temperature, like someone had just dumped a block of ice onto my chest. Next came the faint _hissing_ noise, slowly growing louder. Ptolemy was the first to recognize it.

" _Magnetize_!" came his shout over the general broadcast channel. " _Magne_ -"

That was as far as he got before the _hiss_ transformed into a thunderous _whoosh_ as our section of the station was vented. One of the AKs went sailing past me, damn near knocking into me as he was sucked out into the hall. The poor fuck apparently hadn't locked his mag-boots in time. I took a silent breath to thank whatever gods there were that mine _had_ engaged before the wind had started. A moment later I sent up a prayerful hope that that poor bastard had managed to grab onto something before being sucked out of the station entirely. That wasn't a death that _anybody_ deserved.

The hardest part of losing containment or life support in any section of a ship or station wasn't so much the loss of gravity: between the magnetic boots and the fact that most of the people here had _grown up_ in space, moving around wasn't a real problem. The hardest part was the _freezing_ cold. I had to take several moments to force my lungs to breathe normally. We had all heard of, or experienced "Spacer's Blackout," when the sudden exposure to cold caused the inexperienced Spacer to hold their breath involuntarily, often until they made themselves pass out, the whole time without realizing that they _weren't_ breathing.

Proper armor, like the crap the Eclipse was probably wearing, would keep them nice and warm... but the rest of us weren't as lucky.

A figure that I recognized as my half-brother turned and made a tapping motion on the side of his helmet, and then a sharp drawing of his finger across his neck. Everyone nodded in understanding: the first thing the Eclipse technicians who had vented the station would do would be to scan all frequencies in an attempt to find our channel. If they heard voices they didn't recognize, then they would know several of us had magnetized in time, and unless they were idiots, might be able to figure out exactly how many of us there were. If we stayed quiet, there was a chance that they might think they had solved their problem, and restore life support before sending their people back in.

Not a _good_ chance, mind you, but a chance nonetheless.

Orr motioned us forward, picking up one foot at a time, making for the door. I gestured for Laila to move towards the console, trying my best to make a "see what you can do" gesture. The Turian nodded her head before giving me a thumbs up in reply.

The rest of Orr's party slowly busied themselves with placing cone-shaped charges on the door. I winced reflexively. Blowing the door wasn't the best plan: it would mean that either they would restore atmo to the whole station, or more likely, just force us to fight the entire battle in zero-G. Which would suck massive Krogan balls, but it's what I would do if I was defending a station.

Still... It was certainly better than the alternative of waiting around, magnetized to the floor, waiting for Eclipse reinforcements to arrive.

Just as Orr was counting the charges down with his fingers, the lights suddenly came back on, and there was a pull on my chest as gravity and atmo was restored.

"LIFE SUPPORT: RESTORED," came the automated voice over the system PA, telling us what we already knew.

"I'm in the system," Laila stated, still typing away on her Omni-Tool, now. "I can't take it over or lock them out entirely, but at least I can keep them from venting us out again."

"Well done," Ptolemy stated, to which Orr seemed to wince in revulsion at _thanking_ a Turian, but neither of us cared much right now.

"There's bad news with the good," Laila said tensely, "They've sent out a distress signal: Standard automated Eclipse code.

"Tell me you scrambled it," Ptolemy answered, equally tense.

"To pieces," confirmed Laila, "But I have no way of knowing how much got through."

" _Fuck_ ," I groaned, shaking my head.

"We should pull back," Ptolemy argued. "We haven't lost anyone yet, and they have no way of knowing exactly who has attacked them. We pull out now we'll save-"

" _No_!" Orr hissed back. "Not when we're so close!"

Ptolemy seethed, "If anyone's received that signal, there will be Eclipse ships inbound on our location, ready to blow us all to the deepest hells!"

"If we can send our own all-clear, we have a cruiser just off-system, waiting for our signal."

"Wait…a _cruiser?!_ Whose cruiser?" Ptolemy asked, shaking his head in confusion. "Alliance?"

Orr scoffed in reply to the guess, but turned and motioned his men forward without explaining further. Tol shot me a look that I had no doubt contained cold fury at being ignored so, but it was impossible to tell with the polarized helmet visors.

Hatshepsut sputtered, waving an arm frantically in a vague direction, her voice more than a little squeaky. "There's a dreadnought out there with the Eclipse on it! How are we supposed to fight that, even with their mystical _c_ ruiser? And what about the Golden Armada!? What in Ra's name is one cruiser going to do?"

I fought the urge to glower at her, not liking that I couldn't argue with the whore. Whatever our plans, they had not included the presence of a mysterious cruiser that could materialize from seemingly nowhere.

Whoever was in charge here, I had to give it to them: they weren't wasting any time trying to sacrifice themselves in death-or-glory last stands or barricades. They were simply manually sealing doors shut and dropping emergency bulkheads in an attempt to slow us down. I supposed the goal was to give as much as possible for their reinforcements to arrive.

With Laila scrambling their signal and slowly hacking the doors as we encountered them, their plan might not have been very effective, but it was certainly bloody annoying. It took _entirely_ too long before we were stacked up against the final door standing between us and the control room.

With a pained, unwilling _creak,_ the giant door opened, and we came through, guns raised. But rather than the Eclipse engineers and technicians crouched behind consoles, like we expected, there was instead…

Nothing. The room was empty. The abandoned consoles were even still logged on, revealing lines of information and code that ran the entire place.

"Where are they?" Orr shouted, still scanning the room with his rifle.

"I don't know, boss," one of the white-armored figures offered unhelpfully.

Orr sounded like he was foaming at the mouth. "I fucking _know that_ , you dimwit! _Find them_!"

"Here, boss!" Called out one of the Earthers, plopping himself into a nearby chair, and bringing up a security feed. "They're headed down to the Maintenance Bay!"

"What? Why?"

"The escape pods," Ptolemy groaned. "Their commander apparently doesn't think this station is worth dying over. If they can get to the pods and launch free…"

"At least _one_ of the fuckers might be able to make it to Omega," Orr nodded, shaking his own head in frustration. "And then it'd be open bloody season on the Blood Arrows. Kenny, get your squawker to lock the pods down!"

I could see Laila stiffen at the insult, but I nodded all the same. She moved slowly to one of the consoles and began typing furiously.

"Marcus!" Orr continued, his voice rising in pitch as it usually did when he was getting furious. "Get the boys down there on the double! Fucking _end_ those kaffirs! Every last one of 'em!"

The white-armored figures ran from the room, rifles and weapons in hand. Orr spun on a heel and made his way to look over the shoulder of O'Shea, who was seated at another console. "Can you get the station's defenses online?"

"Can't," O'Shea shook his head. "They've been dismantled."

"Well, get them back on!" Orr hissed in frustration.

"Not 'disabled', _dis-man-tled_ ," O'Shea hissed right back, emphasizing each syllable of the word. "The trawler we commandeered is carrying upgrades for the turrets, and in preparation for their arrival, the yellow-bellies _took the turrets apart_. There's literally _nothing_ to turn on or off."

 _"Son of a fucking bitch!"_ Orr slammed his fist on the console before ripping his helmet off and hurling it across the room. "Why the _fuck_ didn't we catch this?"

"Turns out the enemy, the dirty dogs, has plans of their own, the same as us," I stated dryly. "That's generally why we call them 'the enemy.'"

Orr shot me a glare, but then turned back to O'Shea, spinning up his Omni-Tool.

"Send out this transmission," he said, bringing up some sort of code. "Tell them ' _Hell is empty, and all the devils are here._ "

"Shakespeare?" O'Shea asked. "Seriously?"

"Who's Shakespeare?" Hattie asked, her head cocking sideways.

"Some ancient Earther poet," O'Shea answered, shaking his head. "Bit of a prat, really."

"It's a _code_ , you uncultured heathen," Orr growled back. "Means to come in armed to the knife."

"Speaking of which…" O'Shea stated, and then stabbed upwards with the combat blade he usually wore on his thigh. The blade caught Orr in the throat, and the Earther stumbled back, gurgling blood. Ptolemy stepped past me, and brought up his pistol to the back of Orr's head.

"For Jaye, you sonofabitch."

The giant Krogan-made pistol tore off a good quarter of the Earther's head, turning it into a red mist that coated both the wall and Ptolemy's upper torso. Not gonna lie, it was a beautiful sight to see.

Seriously, wear a helmet, dumbass.

Laila was already moving forward, nearly catching the body before it hit the floor. My half-brother looked over at me and nodded. I clicked my radio mic, twice.

A side door opened, and a yellow-armored Asari stepped out, and then lifted a hand. A blue ribbon of biotic energy, almost like a needle, burned across the side of my helmet and across the wall. The smell of ozone filled my helmet's re-breather system.

"Attack!" I shouted into the general channel. "We're under attack!"

I pulled out my shotgun and fired twice, both shots into the console where O'Shea had been seated only moments before. Hattie was walking quickly towards the door, firing her rifle at full-auto into the room's ceiling.

"Ambush!" Ptolemy screeched, the panic in his voice contrasting comically with the calm and collected walk toward the door by which we had entered the room, firing his pistol in the general direction of the Asari figure. " _Ambush_!"

Even though they were only a few meters apart, every shot went wide. Laila hoisted the body of Orr over her shoulder, carrying the corpse out just behind Ptolemy. I nodded at the Asari figure, and she bowed in answer. Then she raised her pistol and sent two shots into my armor before the door closed. My plating was good enough to withstand them, even with my barriers still out from that gout of warpfire, but it still was enough to send me reeling back.

"Pull back!" Ptolemy was calling, even as our party was calmly retracing our steps back towards the hanger. "Everyone fall back!"

"Man down!" I now joined in the conversation, the bruises forming on my chest lending unfeigned pain into my tone. "Orr's down! Orr's down!"

"What?" came the confused voice of Marcus Ripley. "What do you mean, Orr's down?"

"He means fucking _dead,_ you thickhead!" O'Shea cut in, again his tone contrasting with our calm pace. "It's a trap! Get your men out of there!"

"What do you mean, it's a- HOLY FUCK OH MY GOD!"

The sound of gunfire and biotics _thrumming_ filled the radios as we listened to Marcus and the other Earthers die quite painfully. I was smiling, and even though I couldn't tell through the helmets, I'm pretty sure the rest of us were as well.

The door opened to reveal the hangar now filled with Eclipse soldiers in yellow armor. The figures parted ranks to let us pass. Blood trailed behind us from Orr's body, leaving a red line from the door back to the small shuttle parked next to the automated trawler by which we had arrived.

"We're ready to go," Hatshepsut purred.

"Wait," O'Shea stated, holding up a hand. "One problem."

"What's that?" Ptolemy asked.

"Not enough casualties," O'Shea commented slowly. He spun on his heel and fired once. Hatshepsut reeled, hands clutching at her throat in a vain attempt to staunch the bleeding. Choking, she collapsed to her hands and knees, and then onto her back. Tol's and my pistols were in our hands, with his against the Irishman's neck, and mine at his armpit, both locations where his armor would be of little or no use.

"Your father's orders," he said slowly. "She fucked around one too many times for his liking. Plus, your uncle will never believe that your father would sacrifice his _lover_ in a betrayal. You know this to be true."

"He said _nothing_ about it to me," Ptolemy hissed.

"Then why else would your old man send our _spymaster_ on a raid like this, and not Nobu or the big Russian?" the Earth-born AK shook his head. "Don't tell me that you actually _disapprove_ of the bitch being dead."

There was another pause, as we processed those two _very_ good reasons for the whore dying.

"If I'm lying, then it's on my head alone," O'Shea continued, holding his hands palms-up.

"The last thing I wish to be is indelicate, masters," came Laila's voice from the shuttle, where she had dumped Orr's body. "But we are rather pressed for time."

"Your slave has a point," one of the yellow-armored Asari tapped her foot, rolling her shoulder in an Asari-style shrug. "Although, it's no water of ours how many of your own people you blow away."

Ptolemy lowered his pistol, a gesture I copied.

"Let's go," he stated, and moved towards the shuttle.

I slid into the seat next to Laila, looking down at the Orr's body on the floor.

"Make it look good," I said to the Eclipse captain.

"No worries there," she replied as the door closed. Immediately, the shuttle began bucking and small alarms began blaring as the Eclipse in the hanger opened fire on the tiny craft. Three biotic blasts slammed into the right side as the shuttle departed, sending us whirling for a moment before our pilot got the vessel under control.

"He said 'Make it look good,' you yellow bitch, not 'Nearly kill us,'" grumbled Ptolemy, releasing his deathgrip on the handhold above him.

"How did we do?" I asked Laila over our private channel. She was typing on her Omni-Tool, but she looked over and nodded at me.

"We're in business." She replied.

I gave her a smile, and then realized I was still wearing my helmet. I opted for a nod and a clap on her shoulder instead. "Well done, Laila. Well done."

The Eclipse shuttle moved into the asteroid belt that stood between Urdak's orbit and Omega, not pursued by anyone.

"They had better be here," Ptolemy stated, with what sounded like clenched teeth.

"They've never failed me before," I grinned, taking delight in my half-brother's fear of flying.

"That is not as comforting a statement as you seem to think it is." He retorted.

"We have contact!" our pilot shouted out. "Eight thousand meters and closing."

With a force of will, Ptolemy forced himself out of his seat, and squeezed himself beside the man. After a few moments of staring he turned back towards me.

" _That_ heap of junk is our ride out of here?" he stated incredulously. I shrugged and held out my hands, palms-up.

"I'm sorry, the _Destiny Ascension_ was booked." I replied in my sweetest tones.

My brother shook his head and then handed me the small mic from the console. I pressed the

'Sync' controls on my Omni-Tool and found the correct frequency. "AK Shuttle to _Iswanee. Iswanee_ , do you read?"

After a moment, the rasp of a volus' rebreather came over the channel. **"Greetings, Arrow-clan!"**

"Hello, Rota," I grinned. "How is business?"

"Profitable," came the reply. "Waz said you needed a ride?"

"If that's possible," I grinned. "If you're busy, we can just wait here until you come back."

Ptolemy's stiffening in aversion and dread was priceless.

" **I think we can manage that, Arrow-clan. Stand by."**

After a moment, there was a loud _clang_ as the _Iswanee_ 's docking arm sealed against the shuttle's side-door. There was another tense moment, then came a _tap-tap-tap_ against our door. After double-checking everyone's helmet seals, you can't be too careful, Laila pressed the controls, sliding the door open, revealing a blue-skinned figure.

"Hey there, lovers!" Waz purred, arching her back to emphasize her assets.

" _Amun-Ra_ , Waz, put a shirt on," I groaned, walking past the half-naked Asari.

"It's _hot_ on this rust-bucket," Wasilla complained, spinning on a heel to follow me while everyone else piled out of the shuttle.

"Crack open a window then," I retorted, not bothering to look at the rude gesture that I was _positive_ was being sent in my direction as I made my way towards the cockpit. The Arrows of Knesset had hired the _Iswanee_ and her crew on multiple occasions, and they were among the best smugglers in the galaxy in my book.

"We owe you big-time for this, Rota," I stated as I stepped into the cockpit. "You know you and Kapena always have a berth at our dock when you need one."

The giant elcor dipped his head in acknowledgment. "With gratitude: our pleasure: between our runs from the Citadel to Omega, docking fees take most of our profit away."

"You've been to the Citadel?" I turned to see that Laila had followed me up from the cargo bay, looking in amazement around the small vessel. Kapena's gills spread in a smile.

"Amused: Affirmative."

"Then… then..." Laila sputtered, "why would you ever _leave_? And come back _here_?"

A chortling sound came from the rotund figure of Nom Rota.

"Palavan-clan, you're young yet, so let an old volus give you a piece of wisdom," he wheezed. "On the Citadel, everything may be clean and pretty to touch, but behind all the glitz and glamour, everybody wants to stab you in the back. Omega may be a bit rough around the edges, to be sure, but most everyone here has the decency to stab you in the face, at least."

"What about the shuttle?" Ptolemy asked, entering the room at the tail end of Rota's monologue.

"If this was real, we'd abandon the thing," I shrugged. "Don't see any reason to not keep up appearances."

"Seems a shameful waste of a perfectly good shuttle," Rota moaned.

"You know anyone on Omega that would be willing to _cut up_ a stolen Eclipse shuttle?" I asked. "Anyone who you'd trust _not_ to also collar and sell you off to make an extra credit?"

"With amusement: fair point," Kapena nodded, putting the _Iswanee_ into a course towards Omega. Ptolemy reached up and pulled off his helmet, taking a deep breath for the first time that day.

"Well," he exhaled. "First leg of our journey down… now for the hard part."

* * *

 **Chosen Heir**

 _(Ptolemy Emrys)_

 **Location** **: The Black Pyramid, Little Egypt, Doru District, Omega**

"What. Happened?" Uncle Nasser's voice was shrill with anger, disbelief, and with no small degree of panic.

"The station was crawling with Eclipse," I began, shaking my head. "Heavily armored soldiers. Biotics, heavies, and snipers. They probably arrived via the same shuttle we used to escape from the station."

"What happened to the shuttle?" Abdul asked, his brows furrowing in worry.

"We transferred over to the smugglers' ship and dumped it in the Belt," Khentu replied. "If there was a tracking device, it will lead the Eclipse nowhere."

Abdul exhaled in slight relief, but then closed his eyes as if remembering something. "The tattoos on the bodies, on the other hand..."

"They are easily disavowed," Uncle stated. It was obvious that his mind was working in overdrive. "I'll talk to Jaroth, explain that a rogue element attempted to cause dissention between our two organizations."

"He'll need heads to roll," Father stated grimly from where he sat at the table. "Examples to be made."

"We can make it happen," Uncle nodded in agreement. "In the meantime, put all perimeter scouts on high-alert. If Eclipse moves against us, they will be swift and deadly."

"I will see the AKs make ready," Father said as he got to his feet. "Ours is the closest to the Eclipse compound. We will keep an extra close eye on them for any unusual activity."

"Make it so, brother," Nasser said hurriedly. "Abdul, come with me: we must salvage what we can from this… disaster."

Abdul cleared his throat and made a gesture towards the two of us. Uncle looked confused for a moment, but then understanding crossed his face and he turned to face us.

"You two did particularly well," he said in a slightly less-somber tone. "You kept your heads in the middle of an ambush and got most of your men out. You should be very proud."

"Thank you, Pharaoh," I saluted solemnly, bringing the back of my hand to my forehead. "We live to serve."

Nasser also turned towards our father, furrowing his brows. "Brother… I mourn with you the loss of Hatshepsut. She was…. A fine woman."

Father drew himself up proudly, but managed a nod in answer. Uncle spun on a heel and then left the room, followed by Abdul and the rest of the Blood Arrows. We sat in silence for a moment, until a green light flashed on the desk.

"Put him through," Father commanded.

Khentu did, and the holographic figure of a salarian appeared on the table.

"Jaroth," Father began, "thank you for…"

" _Shut up,"_ The Salarian growled. " _You don't speak, you useless bits of gutter trash_."

Father's fist clenched and unclenched, but said nothing. I also found my own jaw clenching at the overt display of patronizing distain, but I followed Father's example. As much of an arrogant ass the frog was, he was one of the most dangerous fucks on the station and eveyrone knew it.

" _Now_ ," Jaroth grunted, " _Give me one good reason why I shouldn't give the order to wipe your little miserable excuse for a gang off the face of this rock_."

There was a moment of silence. It was Khentu who eventually broke it. "Sorry… are we 'gutter trash' supposed to speak now? Or are we in the 'you don't speak' phase still? I'm confused."

"For one reason," I cut in, shooting my little brother a look that almost matched Jaroth's, "We _warned_ you of our uncle's plans to take your installation."

Jaroth grunted, but didn't say anything else aloud.

"My brother's actions are those of a mad varren who needs to be put down," Father carried on. "There is no reason why the long-standing relationship between the Eclipse Confederation and the Blood Arrows should be placed in jeopardy over one man's actions."

Jaroth raised an eyebrow. " _And why should the Eclipse trust the word of a Human who would betray his own brother so easily_?"

"Because you know that I value the One Rule of Omega even above the lives of my blood-kin," my father answered. "And because if you _do_ decide to try to kill us, then you will have a blood feud with every Arrow on this station, dragging a gang war on for months, all the while having to explain to your superiors on Illium why you can't take care of 'gutter trash.'"

Jaroth nodded in contemplation, and then crossed his arms. " _And the data about your brother's benefactor_?"

"Orr's Omni-Tool was designed to wipe itself once Orr's vitals flatlined," I answered, receiving a confirmation nod from Khentu. "But we managed a hard burn-over. We are in the process of decrypting the raw data."

" _Bring the results to our enclave_ ," Jaroth stated flatly.

"Can I suggest a more… neutral location?" our father asked in a low voice. "One that will draw less attention?"

Jaroth's eyes narrowed, but he cocked his head to the side. " _What do you suggest_?"

"Afterlife," Mentu Emrys answered. "My youngest son frequents that level. His leaving Doru and visiting there will hardly raise any questions here."

Jaroth's eyes half-closed in thought, and then decided. " _I'll send a representative as well. Notify us immediately whenever you get the word_."

Then he made a gesture, and the connection ended abruptly. I exhaled slightly and then turned to our _Haty-a_ _._ "You should have told us about Hatshepsut, Father."

"You were told what you needed to know," Father replied grimly. "Mike had his orders, and you had yours. Nobu found evidence that she was selling intel, supplies and weapons to the Talons up on Fumi. If I could not trust her with protein bars, I was certainly not going to trust her to help lead a coup against our Pharaoh."

I forced my jaw and my fist to unclench. "Did you not _trust_ us to accomplish the task?"

Father stopped and turned to looked me in the eye.

 _"_ Never," he stated emphatically, and then the one eye darted in Khentu's direction. He reached a hand over towards me, motioning me to come closer. We both took a step closer, and our father placed a hand on each of our shoulders. "You two are the only ones on this station that I _do_ trust, implicitly. I chose not to tell you for the simple reason that you both had other things to worry about."

"So who takes care of our Intel and Logistics now?" I asked, after another awkward silence on everyone's part. I had a feeling I knew who my father had in mind, and the complete oblivious-ness on Khentu's face made it all the more enjoyable.

"Khentu," Father stated, confirming my suspicions.

I grinned as I watched feeling of cold dread wash over Khentu as realization sunk in, as if the room was being vented.

"I'm sorry, what?" he sputtered, looking to me for assistance that was not coming.

"We will face these coming challenges together," Father stated, "as a family."

"In addition, you already possess contacts and connections from Afterlife to Kima," I agreed, grinning now at my brother's discomfort, reveling at the small measure of revenge for his antics on the shuttle.

He stared at each of our faces, realizing that we were in fact, serious. "Shit."

"You're welcome," Father smiled wryly. His blind eye winked at me.

"Your pardon, masters?" The three of us turned to see my brother's turian standing in the doorway.

"I apologize for the intrusion," she bobbed her head. "But you wanted to know the _moment_ the data was decrypted."

"Head of Intel?" I gestured, grinning at Khentu. He sighed and reached out a hand for the datapad she had brought with her, all the while giving me the middle finger with his other hand. He stared at it for a moment and then handed it to Father, who took a step towards me so we could both look. I glanced down at the data as Father thumbed through what looked like a personal log, until he found the data Khentu had highlighted. I felt my brows tighten in confusion.

"Who the _fuck_ is Cerberus?"

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Well, Orr has come to his unfortunate (if somewhat predictable) end, setting a whole slew of events into motion, including Khentu shouldering greater responsibilities within the gang.**

 **On top of that, everyone's favorite elcor/volus pair made their cameo appearance, which was a lot of fun to write!**

 **Special thanks and shout-out to Katkiller-V, for the use of his AR-Mass Effect Universe, and for Beta-reading these chapters! **

**As always, all thoughts/comments/suggestions/constructive criticisms are welcome in the reviews! You guys' feedback is what keeps me motivated to write!**

 **EE-RAH!**

 **-Tusken1602**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

BJ Hasssen: It was a fun bit of Khentu's backstory to reveal, as he is probably one of the few humans who would realize what was going on.

ROCK ON, EVERYBODY!


	8. Act 1: Afterlife

**Excerpt from Personal Omni-Tool of Jacob Orr**

 _O: You said The Illusive Man had signed off on this op!_

 _R: I said that all pertinent parties had signed off._

 _O: Don't fucking give me semantics. If he finds out the shit you've pulled…_

 _R: He will be nothing but impressed when we report that Cerberus has established a foothold for Humanity in the very heart of the Terminus._

 _O: If he doesn't sic his mad dog Leng on us._

 _R: If Cerberus is to expand, we must shake off the image of two-bit terrorists. Liberating a lawless station and creating a bastion for humanity will cement our position as liberators to the rest of the Terminus, and demonstrate that humans are to be respected, if not feared._

 _O: If this goes sideways._

 _R: It won't._

 _O: Please tell me that the Agamemnon will be in position._

 _R: Of course. They will be performing battle drills off Vatar, in the Kairavamori system, just a single jump from Sahrabarik. The captain is a friend: they will answer your call when it comes._

 _O: They better._

 _R: Have faith, old friend. It's a practically undefended space station, in the most disorganized system in the galaxy. What could possibly go wrong?_

-END TRANSMISSION-

* * *

 **Omega's Child**

 _(Khentu Emrys)_

 **Location: Afterlife District, Omega**

"Well, here we are again." I muttered as Laila and I were making our way through the massed crowds on the dance floor of Afterlife.

"Let's hope we can get in and out again without dying," she replied.

"You said it," I grinned.

"Let me guess," she rumbled, "we don't have a plan?"

I adopted a look of feigned shock. "Laila, when have I ever _not_ had a plan?"

She rolled her eyes. "Only always."

"What can I say?" I retorted, "I prefer to live life on the ragged edge."

"It's Omega, sir," came her reply. "Our entire existence is already the ragged edge. You don't need to add more risk just for fun."

"That's true enough," I admitted. "And now I've inherited Hattie's job to keep all the Blood Arrows safe on that ragged edge. That bitch is laughing her ass off at me from somewhere on the other side. I have more lives and livelihoods all hanging on _my_ ability to go in there and – "

"Khentu."

I paused to see Laila paused next to a door, her hands folded behind her. I kicked myself for letting myself be so distracted as to walk _past_ our meeting place. I reached for the panel, paused, and took a deep breath.

 _"You can do this, Khentu."_

 _"We're all depending on you, my son."_

My brother's and father's words echoed in my head as I slammed a fist into the pad. The door opened with a screeching _sigh_ , and I strode in, doing my best to exude confidence that I did not possess.

There were four figures in the room already: the first, an asari, wore a yellow suit of armor with the Eclipse logo emblazoned across her chest.

 _No mystery who she was, then._

Two of the other figures wore more average Omega attire, though a cursory glance revealed that their gear was well-cared for. The human male had long dreadlocks, with a white line drawn across his face.

 _White Tiger._

The turian beside him had a red stripe down the middle of his face, and the symbol on his shoulder somewhat resembled the letter 'T.'

 _Talon._

The last figure was another turian in a long dress robe, the high collar rising to frame her narrow shoulders. I didn't even to look for any kind of symbol to realize who she was:

 _Brotherhood of the Fallen._

It also did not escape me that we were in fact early to the meeting, and these four had already assembled to discuss the situation.

"Looks like I'm the last to the party," I stated dryly, sporting what I hoped was a disarming smile. "

"Not at all," the asari smiled. "Introductions, then…?"

"Better to leave names out of this," I countered quickly. "You're Eclipse, Tiger, Talon, and Sister. I'm Arrow, and that's all that needs be said."

Approving grunts went around the room, and the asari gestured to the empty chair. I moved slowly and sat down, flanked on all sides by the other gang members.

 _Subtle power play_.

"So let's cut to the chase, Arrow," the Sister began, "If you want our support with your little _coup_ , we demand the Lower Doru Docks be returned to the Brotherhood."

 _That didn't surprise me at all._

"Who's 'we'?" I raised an eyebrow.

"We prefer our neighbors to be trustworthy and less… trigger-happy," Tiger growled softly.

"I bet you do," I scoffed.

The turian stiffened and narrowed her gaze. "What do you mean, Arrow?"

I grinned. If I tried to take on all four of them in these… negotiations, for lack of a better term, they would chew me up and spit me out, and everyone here knew it. My one hope was to highlight each gang's distrust and rivalries with the other, and offer the Arrows as a preferable alternative.

"Come on, Sister," I began. "If the Talons and the Tigers thought they were strong enough to _take_ the docks from the Arrows, they would have already done so by now. They'd much rather a weaker gang like the Brotherhood have them. And then how do you plan on keeping them?"

Sister half-rose from her seat, stopped only by Eclipse's half-raised hand.

"The Brotherhood is _far_ from weak, _boy_ ," she hissed.

"We just demonstrated to the whole station that you don't have the strength or numbers to expand into Doru," I retorted, "With the losses you've sustained, how do you plan on holding the docks when the White Tigers decide they need them? Or the Talons? Hiring outsiders is out the question: the Wave and Hunters have sent their best fighters down to back T'Ravt down in Gozu, along with every other respectable freelancer and hired muscle on this rock."

"There are those on this station who _still_ possess a modicum of _honor_ ," Talon interjected, speaking for the first time.

"Honor?" I mimicked, "This is Omega, friend: 'honor' takes a back seat to 'practicality.' And in practical terms, Sister: they want the Arrows to give you back the docks because, frankly, you're weaker than us, and taking from you will be easier for them. So, to put it bluntly, Elder Sister, you and what army plan on holding the Docks?"

"The Tigers are not the ones who attacked their neighbors without warning," the other human in the room stated. "If anyone is to be mistrusted…"

"So did you and the Talons gave the True Sons written warning of your attack _a week_ or just a _shift_ before your takeover of Fumi?" I retorted. "Don't insult the rest of us by pretending you're somehow _better_ than or _above_ being gangsters."

 _That_ prompted a round of threats and complaints, none of which were directed at me, incidentally. The Eclipse sister tried to make herself heard above the other three, and I could see her hand begin to glow as her own temper drew to its limit. But before she could enact whatever violence or display of power she had planned, the room was filled with a booming, echoing laughter that cause _everyone_ to jump nervously.

"The Arrow speaks more truth than the rest of you pyjaks put together," an impossibly-deep voice boomed.

We all turned to see a _massive_ figure having appeared at the doorway to the room.

I'd seen my share of krogan. Hell, Kapena was considered a big Elcor by his species' standards. This behemoth was _fucking_ HUGE. What was also scary was the fact that this behemoth had managed to sneak up on us entirely unnoticed.

"Patriarch," the Eclipse sister _breathed_ , before giving an Eclipse salute. "You honor us with your presence, sir."

 _Patriarch… Amun-RA,_ _this_ guy was the ex-warlord of Omega? As the giant krogan moved into the room, it dawned on me exactly _how powerful_ Aria T'Loak had to be, in order to make this monster her goddamn _Pet._ Dark eyes flickered around the room, and a mallet of a fist closed around a comically-undersized walking stick.

"Sit down and relax," he rumbled, "before one of you strains something."

Without a word, the five us sank down in our chairs, still trying to take in the mere sight of the ancient krogan, who looked around the room again before speaking:

"The pyjak is out of the hold, Sister," he chuckled. "There is no putting him back in. The Arrows have discovered that they are strong enough to be a threat. They will not be content to go back to being small-time thugs simply because you wish it."

I shifted uncomfortably in my chair, with no idea which direction this conversation was going, and with my half-assed plan of 'divide-and-conquer' disappearing like a cloud of Red Sand.

"The question is," Patriarch continued, "Will you work _with them_ , or will you go to war, and do your best to wipe them out wholesale? Even if you secure the aid of the Eclipse, the Arrows have the advantage of knowing Doru. There's no guarantee they will go down easy, or stay down once they're there."

The Sister's mandibles flared, but her eyes and tone remained calm. "What then do you propose, elder one?"

"The Brotherhood of the Fallen get the Docks back," the massive krogan stated, "And you hire the Blood Arrows as your muscle to defend them."

She opened his mouth to object, and then closed it again with a snap. I forced myself to let out a breath that I hadn't realized I'd been holding until now.

"Best of both worlds," he continued. "Your people run the shipments, the schedules, and the workload: Their people move provide the muscle to move and defend the goods."

My thoughts were racing, trying to keep up with the ex-battlemaster of Omega. I gestured to the asari seated between us.

"He's got a point," I admitted, "Eclipse gets to expand their business with preferential placement on the docks, you pocket the thresher's share of the income, and the Arrows stay happy, on account of our people being assured employment, plus a trivial portion of the profit."

Suspicion crept back into the turian's face. "And what do you call a 'trivial portion,' Arrow?"

I spread my hands innocently. "Fifteen percent?"

Mandibles flared openly now, in a turian display of unfeigned disgust. "That's _insane_!"

I couldn't help grinning back at her: this was _haggling_ , and this I knew very well…

After much finagling and finessing, we eventually settled on our mutual dissatisfaction at eleven and a half percent of the dock's profits, plus individual commissions on any select or special jobs the Eclipse would need for any additional cargo or special occasions, which would be settled on a case-by-case basis. Talon and Tiger, on the other hand, both looked like they'd swallowed a lemon: they couldn't object to the terms now, or else risk confirming their desire to take over the Docks directly. Now was the time to throw them a bone, or risk making enemies of them entirely.

"When the shit hits the fan," I stated, "the Sand Jackals will be out for blood. Our plan is to launch decapitation strikes against any of the Blood Arrow leaders who might pose a threat, but the Jackals… are a bunch of bat-shit crazy bastards. Gideon Avram will seek to avenge Nasser's death, and could present a core of resistance for others to rally behind."

I turned to Talon and Tiger. "If your gangs can throw _anything_ at them to keep them busy and occupied within their own territory, we'd be very grateful."

"How grateful?" Tiger stated, his interest peaked.

"My father has authorized me to let you keep whatever territory you take from them," I answered. "Or if you don't have the units to launch a full-scale assault and would prefer to just shell them to rubble, they are the ones given charge of the Kuaka Markets. Once we can deal with them, those Markets will be yours: no strings attached."

The two shared a look, and then back to me.

"Those are… generous terms," Talon admitted, "We don't know exactly how much we can promise. But I will pass on your words to our leader. Based upon her answer, I will contact you discreetly.

"I will do the same," Tiger nodded.

I nodded in thanks for their honesty.

"That concludes our business then?" Eclipse stated, raising an eyebrow at the other three gang members. They took the hint and moved towards the door, exchanging nods, or in Tiger's case an actual handshake, with me before exiting. Eclipse turned her gaze back to me, flicking her eyes towards Patriarch, but then thinking better of asking _him_ to leave.

"The data your hacker found?" I nodded towards where Laila had been sitting quietly in the back this whole time. "Go for it."

Laila stood to her feet and spun up her Omni-Tool. "As near as we can tell, _Pharaoh_ Nasser was contacted by a group known as Cerberus during his pilgrimage to Earth."

The other figures in the room shifted uncomfortably.

"You know them?" I asked.

"Unfortunately," Eclipse nodded. "They're a human-centric group of megalomaniac assholes. They _claim_ to be protecting Humanity from oppression."

"But their tactics would suggest they are not hesitant about sacrificing their own kind to achieve their objectives," Patriarch hummed, reading the excerpt taken from Orr's OT. "Whoever this 'R' is, it would seem that they are a cell of Cerberus acting without the knowledge or blessing of the Illusive Man."

"The Head Asshole," Eclipse explained to my puzzled look. "Thinks that _fucking_ wordplay in his title makes him more mysterious. Well… this is _certainly_ not what we expected: my money was going to be on Blue Suns survivors, or maybe even Blood Pack."

"Aria will want to know about this development, I expect?" I asked Patriarch. "Are you going to…?"

Patriarch turned his head and raised a ridged eyebrow meaningfully.

"Trust me, little human," he cut me off, "If it spoken within Afterlife's walls, Aria T'Loak already knows about it."

I nearly slapped myself for forgetting about the no-doubt myriad cameras and microphones that littered this room.

"I will pass this on to my superiors," Eclipse said grimly. "Rogue faction or no, Cerberus interfering in the affairs of the Terminus is a sobering thought indeed."

"And Nasser?" I asked as she got up to leave. She paused and regarded me sharply, and then nodded.

"Eclipse is prepared to stand by to assist in the Arrow's… let's call it 'transition of power,'" she grinned. "We don't have a lot of units on Omega, but send us a list of logistical needs you may have… and we'll see what we can do."

I managed a smile at the promise of _thinking_ about _maybe_ doing something to help. I stood to follow her out of the door, only for Patriarch to raise a single finger in a wordless gesture. I sat back down, shooting Laila a meaningful look. She nodded and moved out the door, closing it behind her. There was a moment of silence as Patriarch looked me up and down.

"So," he finally said, "You're Rameses' grandson?"

I blinked, and then nodded. Rameses Emrys had been the founder of the Blood Arrows, and Mentu's and Nasser's father.

"I see he took my advice about theatricality… quite literally," the old krogan chuckled.

"Your advice?" I repeated. "You knew him?"

"Boy," chuckled the giant, "Where do you think he got the idea of becoming a living god to the rest of the humans?"

"Rest of the humans?" I then mentally kicked myself for just repeating everything the krogan said, like some kind of Mock-Monkey. "All the stories of my childhood called him the First Human on Omega."

"Hmmm…Not quite," the old krogan shook his head, "but near enough so as not to matter. Besides, 'One of the First Humans' doesn't quite have the same ring to it, does it?"

"I suppose not," I answered, still trying to wrap my head around _Pharaoh_ Rameses being where _I_ was sitting, asking advice of this same krogan. Made sense, I guessed. Who knew how many _thousands_ of leaders had asked for Patriarch's advice over the years?

"So, what is next for you then, Khentu Emrys?" Patriarch asked. One dark eye, flecked with eezo, locked onto mine. I wasn't sure how I felt about him knowing _exactly_ who I was, but I supposed it was simple enough for him to figure out.

"Try to survive tomorrow, I guess," I shrugged. "Can't really plan farther than that on Omega."

"There is an element of truth to that," Patriarch nodded. "I wish you good fortune in the war to come… _Pharaoh_."

I scoffed involuntarily. "When the Deeps freeze over, Patriarch."

Now the old krogan broke into a knowing smile. "Live as long as I have, boy, and you will see Day become Night and back again, and empires rise and fall. Do not be so quick to _know_ your future."

I stood there as the door opened, and then gave him an Arrow salute, bringing the back of my hand to my forehead. I didn't know if he would appreciate the gesture or not, I just really didn't know how else to make an exit with anything resembling dignity.

"So… he say anything interesting?" Laila asked as she fell in step beside me.

"He apparently _started_ the Blood Arrows," I answered. "Or at least, he told my grandfather how to form a successful gang."

Laila flexed her mandibles in response to the news, but soon replaced it with her mask of impassivity.

"Back down to Doru, then?" she asked.

"Not yet," I shook my head. "Have another stop to make."

"Please tell me we're not…"

"'Fraid so," I grinned. "But don't worry, I'm not going to let her molest you. Feel free to defend yourself against unwanted sexual attention. Alternatively, feel free to… you know…"

"Spirts, can we change the subject, sir?"

* * *

 **Broken Vessel**

 _(Laila Adonis)_

 **Location: Afterlife District, Omega**

By now, Khentu and I had moved from the bombastic atmosphere of the club to another section of the Afterlife District: largely residential, from the look of it. I was thankful to be in a place where I could hear my own thoughts once again. But the other side of the chit was the fact that outside Aria's headquarters, the Understood Truce no longer applied. Every figure walking along the street had to be appraised, and every alleyway presented potential ambush locations.

It was from one of these that a slender figure stepped, from a crack that I would have sworn a roach could not have slipped into. The salarian brought up a pistol holding it at the back of my master's head.

"You're getting lazy, Emrys," he crowed. "Must be all that fancy living."

"And you're getting blind, Barco," Khentu smiled. "Must be all the cheap booze."

The salarian looked back at me, and the shotgun I held in my hand, pointed at the small of his back.

"You… armed your slave," he stated slowly, lowering the pistol. He shook his head and replaced the weapon very deliberately on his hip. "Serves me right for assuming no human would give a turian slave a weapon."

Khen gave me a nod and a gesture of reassurance, and I slowly lowered my shotgun, but pointedly _did not_ put it away.

"Are the others here already?"

"Inside," Barco nodded. "Had me on lookout."

"Well come on then," Khentu answered. "Let's get off the Set-dammed street."

The two ducked into a narrow doorway, through which I followed. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I saw Khentu and the salarian standing in the middle of a group of armed figures, each of various species:

The asari I recognized almost immediately as Wasilla M'taza, and unfortunately, she recognized me at the same time.

"Laila _daaarling,_ " she crooned, "Come meet everyone!" and linked her arm in mine and half-pulled, half-dragged me into the room before I could object.

The salarian's name was Nasum Ora Gili Weds Lechwe Barcoo, or "Barco," as everyone else called him. The drell's name was Jesse Jalos, or "JJ," as Waz called him. Based on the look he gave her, I was pretty sure she was the _only_ one who called him that.

Quintus Agrippa was a turian who _reeked_ ex-military, right down to the polish that could still be seen on his shirt buttons. His markings immediately marked him being from Palavan itself, and I was suddenly _very_ acutely aware of my bare face coloring hotly during the few short words we exchanged, before Wasilla led me to meet the batarian in the corner, who was introduced as Soji ul Dursa.

"Soji, you're alone?" Khentu asked. "Or is Saji running late?"

Soji blinked slowly and then shook his head.

"Married," he shrugged. "He and Faira; a fortnight ago. They caught a barge to Adek: she has a cousin there who got them a good position as farming overseers."

"Oh." Khentu's face fell slightly, but he managed a smile nonetheless. "Um… my congratulations to them… I guess. OK, Waz, what about those turian twins… dammit, what were their names… the Thexis Twins?"

"Ratha and Lorth?" Wasilla shrugged. "Took a job with another group… the Blades, they're called: supposed to have deep pockets and good gear. They wouldn't budge."

"Pity," JJ raised an eyebrow. "They're a good pair."

"Really?" Waz replied, "They always creeped me the fuck out."

"You were just upset they wouldn't sleep with you," the salarian guffawed.

"Fuck you, Barco."

"Sorry," the salarian retorted. "I have a thing: it's called standards."

"Alright, alright," Khentu butted in, catching Waz's arm before she could hurl her coffee mug across the room at the hacker's face. "We've got bigger fish to fry, yes?"

"So you claim," Quintus shrugged, "So I have yet to hear…"

Khentu spent the next few minutes laying out the situation to those who didn't know the particulars. When he was done, Barco straightened his legs from where he was curled in the chair.

"So what does this have to do with us?"

"This is a new day for the Blood Arrows," Khentu replied. "For too long we've been content to be 'the human-only' gang on Omega. If we're going to survive, we've got to broaden our horizons, and we've got to get smart. And that means bringing in smart people."

"Mentu Emrys will never approve of bringing aliens into the Arrow's ranks," the drell mused thoughtfully.

"Branded members, no," Khentu admitted. "But my new role calls for me to start putting together special teams and try and build _something_ of a network on this station. Being a part of a Special Team means getting special privileges down on Doru: drinks at the bars, companions at the clubs, equipment at the stores, all for exclusive prices."

Nods and smiles went around the room as each of the people present considered the offer. Khentu waited a moment before going on:

"If the Arrows can get through this, this might be the start of something big: moving up on this rock, maybe getting a decent seat at Aria's table. _That_ means special contract jobs, and special rewards for those smart enough to come in at the beginning. Once the relay starts moving, everyone's gonna want to jump onboard."

I couldn't help grinning to myself as he finished: it was a true salesman's pitch: You could almost think for a moment that Khen was selling them real estate on Illium or a timeshare on Biros, rather than trying to recruit them to be a part of a, until now, human-only, small-time gang that stood a very good chance of getting massacred within the next few weeks. But if there was anything that Khentu was good at, it was knowing exactly how to haggle with whoever he was with at the time.

"Well shit," murmured Wasilla, "I know I'm in."

"As am I," Barco stated, "You've never lead us wrong before, Khen."

The rest of the room was nodding as well.

"The chance to be the first aliens in an all-human gang?" Quintus chuckled. "Sounds entertaining, at the very least."

"Sounds like good money," Soji shrugged. "Then I'll go join Saji and Rotha."

Khentu turned to the drell.

"Jesse? You in?"

The older drell stroked his chin thoughtfully.

"There in an ancient saying among my people," he hummed. "'Cast your net in deep waters, and your harvest shall be the richer.' Simply translated: the harder path often holds the greater rewards. I will join your merry band, Emrys."

After making plans on when and where to meet next, the newest members of the Blood Arrows gang filtered out the room. I felt smooth lips pressed against my cheek before I even knew Wasilla was there.

"I'm very excited to be working together, Laila," she purred, and her eyes glimmered like a predator's. "Us girls have to stick together, you know."

And then she spun on a heel and sashayed out the door, swaying her hips more than was necessary. As she was the last to leave, Khentu closed the door behind her and looked over at me.

"That went well," I asked more than stated. Khentu merely shrugged in reply.

"Fewer than I had hoped for," he sighed. "Less than half, actually."

"More will come," I replied. "People are attracted to great leaders."

"Have you met my father?" Khentu scoffed. "He's a good fighter, and a decent tactician, but he doesn't exactly _inspire_ followers the way Uncle Nasser does."

"He was… not who I spoke of, sir."

Khentu gave me a sharp look, and then snorted and shook his head.

"First Patriarch and now you," he chuckled mirthlessly. "I didn't ask for this job. Hell, I don't _want_ this job. I want a ride _off_ this miserable rock to somewhere that has an actual future for me and… and mine."

A distant look came over his face: one I had never seen before. The turian expression for it was 'Spirit whispers', when the mind followed the spirits' guiding, either to the past or the future.

"Far away from… all the guns and killing," he continued distantly. "Somewhere where they'll never have to pick up a gun to kill their brother… in order to save their sons."

"That… sounds wonderful," I offered, after a long moment of silence. Khentu shook himself, as if he was awaking from some deep sleep, and one eye glistened before he dabbed furiously at it.

"What about you?" he asked. "Where would you go, if you could leave here?"

My breath caught in my throat, and I didn't say anything at first.

"Probably back home," I answered after a while, "to Invictus."

"Invictus? As in, 'A house in an Invictus jungle'? The turian phrase that means, 'Something that seems like a good idea, but only to the one who came up with it?'"

"The same one," I nodded, grinning at Khentu's random knowledge of alien idioms. "Caestus System, Minos Wasteland."

"That's… in Council Space," Khentu murmured. "How did you get out here?"

"On the edge of council space," I corrected. "And… my family weren't exactly _legal_ residents of the place. Mom and Dad homesteaded a place out in the Wilds, on the edge of the temperate zone. You have to, if you want to avoid the bugs, and the plagues they bring with them. Anyway, Invictus is where turians go to disappear: not a whole lot of law and order in the place. Reavers came over the hill in the early morning. Dad was out watching the herd… Mom was… was…"

I took a deep breath as the images came rushing back to me.

"Mom and Dad were both ex-military," I began again. "They put up a good fight. I remember as they were dragging me out of the cellar, there were about eight or nine of the bastards in the sand next to them that they had managed to kill before they died. I was only... eight or so, nine maybe. Spent the next week in a cage, and then a truck, and then got loaded onto a ship. Wound up here."

I discovered that I was sweating, and panting hard, at the end of my story. I paused and shook my head. None of my other masters had asked about my home-world, much less sat through my emotional story. I looked over at Khentu, unsure of what to do or say next.

"Tell me about Invictus," he said after another moment had passed.

I breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn't pressed for more family or childhood details. .

"Well ,it's a dextro world," I explained. "It's mostly desert, except for the tropical zone at the equator. But with the tropics comes tiny bugs, and giant predators, both of whom seemed to be designed to kill turians. Dad always said the bugs were more deadly, though…"

Khentu drew himself up into the chair, his eyes rapt and his expression one of thoughtful contemplation. As I went on, his eyes became spirit-whispered again, drawn to faraway places by the description of my home.

"Sounds beautiful," he breathed when I came to a stopping point, and then he shook her myself back to the present. "Well, this whole venture may be a 'house in an Invictus jungle', but we'll make if it what we can."

My mandibles flared in amusement, and I felt myself smiling despite the less-than-pleasant memories.

"Sounds good… Khen."

"But first things first," Khentu stated, standing up suddenly. "Let's go find a decent place to eat."

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Next chapter will be the much-anticipated _coup d'etat_ against Nasser Emrys. The result of the coup, and its after-shocks for the station? Only time will tell. **

**As always, leave your thoughts/suggestions/constructive criticisms in the reviews below! Your messages are what encourage me to keep writing, and they always make my day!**

 **Thanks to Katkiller-V for both the use of his _Another Realm_ ME-verse, and for beta-reading/editing the chapter! **

**EE-RAH!**

 **-Tusken1602**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

BJ Hanssen - I love that game, and yes, it's kinda like Egypt vs. Greece... IN SPACE? ;)

Draco Oblivion - Take anybody by surprise, and they will go down. Also, there is no such thing as plot armor in this story...

ROCK ON, EVERYBODY!


	9. Act 1: Unexpected Turns

**Omega's Child**

 _(Khentu Emrys)_

 **Location: Black Pyramid, Little Egypt, Doru District, Omega**

The past week had been spent in careful preparation of our planned coup. Bomazi and the Pit Vipers had assembled, ostensibly to make a strike against the Eight-Zero Demons. Ptolemy had volunteered to be in charge of training our newest recruits, and our grateful Uncle Nasser had agreed.

To everyone's relief, no new white-armored soldiers had arrived to replace Jacob Orr's cadre. Unfortunately, no new boxes of weapons or armor had arrived either, which left a lot of our newer recruits stuck with the old scavenged weaponry.

Still, we were far better off than we had once been when the set date had arrived.

That morning, Laila was helping me into my armor, and when we were done, I reciprocated, helping her into the light suit she had assembled in the short time we had been together.

"Laila…"

She paused before putting on her helmet. "Sir?"

It struck me in that moment how much I had grown to depend on this person in the weeks she had been with me, and at the same time how little I knew of her. "In case this whole day goes tits-up…"

Our Omni-Tools _beeped_ as the file transferred.

"What's this?" she asked, bringing it up with a quizzical look on her face.

"It's your manumission papers." I replied simply

She froze, turning slowly to face me. Her mouth opened, but no words came.

"Head to the docks before the shooting starts," I ordered. "The _Iswanee_ is docked there, and Rota stills owes me one last favor: Get yourself out of here, and back home to Invictus."

"Khentu…" she stammered. "I…. I…."

"Get out of here, Laila," I sighed. "While you still can."

"You'll need me when your father becomes Pharaoh."

I grinned at Laila, arguing with me about the logic of keeping her in a collar.

"Laila," I answered, turning to face her. "With all probability, we won't be alive tomorrow."

"Everything is ready," she countered, "If the plan…"

"You know full well that plans go to hell and shit once the first bullet fires," I cut her off. "Even _if_ we can take Nasser by surprise and kill him, and Abdul too, then we have to face the vengeance of the Blood Arrows, and the Sand Jackals. We'll lose half our number taking care of them. And assuming we can do it, we have only the _word_ of the Tigers, the Talons, and the Brotherhood that they won't come sweeping in to finish us off. Set, this could all be the long-term plan of Jaroth: to get us to kill each other, and the Eclipse finishes everyone off in a statement to the rest of this station."

Her mouth closed, biting back her answer. She knew we didn't have a choice. If we didn't do this, it was just a matter of time before uncle did something to anger Aria, or before the other gangs came after us anyway. This was going to be messy, and probably horrible, but there was at least a _chance_ that we could survive long term.

"Go, Laila Adonis of Invictus," I continued slowly. "Thank you, for everything you have done."

"Khentu!"

I paused in the door, and looked back at the dark turian.

"Good… Good luck," she managed.

I nodded in reply and then closed the door behind me. What do you say in this type of situation?

Nothing good came to mind.

A figure in armor fell in alongside me. Ptolemy had thankfully lessened the mirror polish to a dull shine. It was still not dirty or rusty enough to be inconspicuous, but at least it didn't scream 'Shoot Me' in a firefight.

"Brother?"

"It's done," I nodded. "And Tess?"

"Also free," he answered. "I have forgiven her family's debt in full. I… I booked her passage off the station. She will be safer away from this place."

I nodded wordlessly. Whatever relationship it could be said that Laila and I had, we certainly hadn't been _sleeping_ together. I couldn't imagine what Tol must have been feeling, and opted not to do him the discourtesy of trying.

"Are we ready then?"

Mentu Emrys stood in the doorway of the Black Pyramid, with the Arrows of Knesset behind him. The Blood Arrows that we would be fighting today would mostly be wearing the traditional red armor, or the Sand Jackals' black coloration. To distinguish friend from foe, both the Pit Vipers and ourselves had settled on a rusty-colored tan, with red accents for those who felt like dressing up for the fight of their lives. Ptolemy gave a cursory glance around the room, and then met his gaze.

"We are, Father."

"Then let us be about this day," Father sighed. "We have a king to kill."

* * *

 **Chosen Heir**

 _(Ptolemy Emrys)_

 **Location: Thoth, Little Egypt, Doru District, Omega**

A thousand thoughts were racing through my head all at once as we made our way to Uncle's compound.

 _Tessa's tears as I send her away…_

 _Her begging me to come with her, and how much I want to do just that._

 _Trying to remember exactly how many knives Abdul carries with him at all times._

 _Weak points in Uncle Nasser's Armor._

 _Favorite tactics of the Jackals…_

"TOL!"

I tensed as I heard the alarm in my brother's voice, my hand going instinctively to the gun at my hip. However, Khentu's gaze was locked to _something_ above us.

"Brother?" I asked, following his gaze. "What's wrong?"

"There."

We all tensed, and followed the finger he was pointing. A single ship had broken away from the usual cordon of ships that hovered inside the core, and was bound on what looked like a collision course for the station's interior.

"What in _Amun-Ra's_ name?" I heard my father whisper.

As if in response to his question, four massive beams slammed into the side of the vessel, coming from the station's auto-defense gun emplacements on the level above. In short order they had burned through what paltry shields the vessel contained, and the ship banked left, _hard_ , and began returning fire, even as it careened out of control.

Headed straight for us.

"Oh, _fuck_ ," Khentu swore.

"TAKE COVER!" I called out. "EVERYONE! GO, GO, GO!"

The crowd around us seemed to _snap_ out of their collective stupor and shock all at once, realizing all the same time that a giant ship was headed for our level, and there wasn't a damn thing we could do about it.

"What the _fuck_ is going on?" Khentu swore as we ducked into a nearby alleyway. "Who the _fuck_ is suicidal enough to attack Omega with one ship?"

"No one," I agreed. "This has to be a part of a larger plan… maybe there are more ships on the outside of the station? Or maybe this is just a distraction?"

Right at that moment, the massive trawler came down, impossibly huge against the flimsy buildings in its way, grinding everything before it into rubble. Smoke and flames were now billowing from the belly of the ship, like blood from some kind of mortally-wounded creature. A blast wave came down the street, knocking the running figures aside like nine-pins.

"Hell of a distraction," Khentu groaned, picking himself up with a shake of his head.

"Where did it touch down?" I heard Father's voice over the radio. "Can anyone see?"

"Nobu here, _Haty'a_ ," came the answer. "From the burning buildings, it looks like the scow came down just on the other side of _Thoth_. We can see figures moving, and gunfire coming from the lower levels of the building."

"Send out a general distress signal," Father called. "All Arrows are to converge on Thoth."

"We are trying to raise the other gangs, _Haty'a_ ," Nobu replied. "But we apparently are being jammed."

"Then send fucking _runners!"_ Father shouted. "We are under attack! We have to help our people, and find out what the hell is going on."

We shared a look with Father, who gave us the briefest of head-shakes. Whatever plans we had for a coup today, they were now on hold. Fate, the fickle bitch that she was, had literally dropped a bomb on our careful plotting.

"Mike, your boys are with Ptolemy," Father barked as our party set out down the street at a steady jog. "Khentu, move left to link up with Nobu and Ivan."

"Acknowledged," my brother answered, uncharacteristically brief in the tense moment.

I moved right, falling in step with O'Shea and the four-leafed clover he had painted on the side of his helmet. As we neared the crash site, gunfire and screams could be heard. Every single pane of glass had been shattered, and there was a thick coat of concrete dust covering _everything_ , and still hanging in the air like a fog. I gestured to an apartment complex.

"Snipers to the roof of those buildings," I ordered. "Get above this damn dust cloud and call targets and friendlies as you see them."

"Roy, Patty, that's you, lads," O'Shea repeated. Two figures, neither looking a day over eighteen, darted into a nearby doorway.

"Who's got the heaviest weapon?" I called out. A figure carrying a light machine gun appeared at my side. "What's your name, Arrow?"

"Kilrain, sir," a woman's voice answered. I did a double-take, despite the moment: she was at least a head taller than the rest of the party, and outweighed the heaviest by a good stone.

"Set up the first chance you get," I carried on, regardless. "Whoever these fuckers are, keep their heads down until we get close enough for a grenade volley."

"Got it," she murmured, hefting her weapon into place on her shoulder.

" **Roy here, sir,"** came a boy's voice in my ear. **"We're in place."**

"What can you see?" I asked.

 **"We've got… we've got…** ** _SET,_** **we've got krogan moving from house to house ahead of you, sir. Just one block ahead. Look heavily armed, red armor."**

I swore, and not silently. Krogan: there were only a few gangs on Omega that had krogan members, and only one that I knew of that sported red armor.

"Father, Khentu," I called into the general channel. "We've got Blood Pack here. Do you copy?"

No answer came.

Before I could swear again, there was a break in the infernal dust cloud, and three massive figures could be seen just ahead. There was no need to pause to see if they were friend or foe.

"OPEN UP!" I called, launching a warp at the same time. The nearest krogan merely waved his hand, and my orb of dark energy was batted aside like a damn clawball. Even at this distance, his voice was clearly broadcasted, making me wonder if he was using built-in speakers or if his voice was _actually_ that loud:

"FINALLY."

The three krogan fanned out, and an unholy amount of firepower was sent our direction. It seemed like there were _thirty_ of them out there, rather than just three, and worse, they quickly identified our strengths and weaknesses. Kilrain began peppering the first one with her light machine gun, only to draw the fire of all three. The concrete pylon she was hiding behind began to dissolve beneath their combined fire.

"Grenades!" I called out, palming one in my hand. "Now! Now!"

Without looking, I launched the thin disk in the krogan's general direction, an example which four or five others followed. We were rewarded for our efforts by grunts of pain and anger as the grenades went off. The roar that followed grew louder and louder, accompanied by a rumble resembling an incoming freight truck. I side-stepped and instinctively threw another warp. It caught the charging krogan on the side of the head, which caused him to trip over a piece of rubble and sending him tumbling head-over heels.

I ran forward as the krogan attempted to roll to a standing position, positioning my heavy pistol _just_ under the creature's chin and pulling the trigger. The massive head jerked up, and I took the opportunity to jam the pistol into the exposed throat cavity and fire two more times. Orange blood coated my upper body as multiple hearts pumped blood out of the severed artery. I scanned left and right to take in the fight: a second krogan figure lay sprawled on the ground, probably disabled from the grenades. The third one was…

"WATCH OUT!"

Ducking instinctively is the only thing that saved me. Flechettes of metal _whistled_ past my head like angry hornets. Their owner growled in frustration, and then in pain as Kilrain and other Arrows turned their weapons on him. Rather than ducking for cover, the damn thing just turned to face her very slowly, _taking_ every shot on first his barriers, and then his shields. Then the shots began sparking across his armor as his raised his weapon towards the offending humans.

A Ruzad Shotgun was designed by krogan to kill _thresher maws_ ; to cause as much blood loss as possible to weaken and eventually kill the giant predators of Tuchanka. At close range, the Arrows closest to the krogan vanished into red mist clouds that left bloody chunks behind. Going right, I began peppering the krogan's helmet.

"Not for the body!" I called out as my squad dove for cover. "Aim for the head!"

That only prompted the krogan to shift left, throwing up his left arm to protect his face. His infernal shotgun swung towards me, smashing fist-sized holes in the wall behind me. I dove for cover, sending another warp his direction. I was rewarded with a grunt, whether of pain or irritation, I wasn't sure.

Two rifles barked, showing our snipers weren't completely useless, and the krogan stumbled and took a knee. O'Shea ran up behind it, knife in hand, hauling himself up the krogan's back and stabbing at the neck.

"O'Shea, wait, godsdammit…!"

The crazy Irishman never heard my warning before a krogan fist came up, closing around his helmet like a vise. Holding the Arrow by the head, the krogan beat him against the pavement like a rag doll. On the second hit, there was a _snapping_ sound, and the head came free of the body.

I summoned another throw, fully aware in the moment that with my old amp, this much exertion might have killed me.

 _Osiris, if Orr winds up saving my life, then you have a sick and twisted sense of humor._

The biotic push knocked the kneeling krogan sideways, and a rumbling sound came from his helmet. It wasn't until I got closer that I realized he was _chuckling_. As I raised my weapon to shut him up, he sent out a biotic blast that knocked _everyone_ back.

With a biotic flash of my own, I launched myself back up to my feet. The three other AKs, on the other hand, did not move from where they had landed. One's neck was lying a very wrong angle, as was another's leg. I assumed that the other one was either unconscious, or just unwilling to continue the fight.

"You got a lot of _spunk_ , pup," a deep voice rumbled from the krogan's helmet, scanning the battlefield and coming to the same conclusion I had: there were just the two of us left. "This has been most… entertaining."

"Your friends certainly found us more than _entertaining_ ," I barked back. The krogan swiveled to take in the corpses of his comrades.

"Never liked the _pyjaks_ ," he shrugged. "Now, come on, pup: give me your best shot."

The krogan took a ready stance, as if we were in some kind of training dojo.

And then took two more hits on his barriers from the snipers. One sparked across the back of his knee harmlessly, but I saw the second draw blood, striking where the first shot had cracked the armor.

" _Ancestors_ ," he swore, "Wait here, pup."

And then the fucker _flash-stepped._ One second he was right in front of me, and the next second, I was hearing the screams of Roy and Patty from their sniper's nest. I ran forwards towards the apartment building, not sure exactly what I was planning on doing, when there was another flash of biotic energy, and the krogan was _back_ in front of me, knocking me back _again_ with his sudden arrival.

"Now, where were we?" he rumbled, retaking his fight stance.

"Fuck you, asshole," I groaned, rolling back to me feet. "And the bastard who spawned you."

"Come, come, now," the krogan chuckled. "Don't a bad sport about dying, human. All in all, I'd say you've done rather well."

A hand came up and plucked the knife _out of his throat_ , where O'Shea had buried it. The blade that had been nearly oversized in his hands now resembled a toothpick in-between the krogan's fingers. It was at that moment that I did a flash-step of my own. Well, it wasn't really a proper flash-step as much it was me launching a throw against the wall _behind_ me and riding the shockwave forward, landing next to the krogan's kneecap that one of the snipers had hit. Wreathed in dark energy, I slammed a fist into the injured limb, drawing a curse and a back-hand from the stumbling krogan.

"That the… best you got?" the krogan wheezed, slightly less confident than before. "You're gonna have to… hit harder than that, pup."

"Don't need to," I grunted. "That grenade on your belt should do just fine, dumbass."

The krogan looked down to see the time-delayed grenade I had stuck under his belt as he had stumbled from my hit. Giant fingers clutched clumsily at the small device just as the explosion went off. Even then, the blast was just enough to send him reeling sideways, bleeding from the hip and from the severed fingers on his hands.

Grunting as I felt bruised ribs rebel against my commands, I reached left and found the late Kilrain's LMG, yanking the weapon up into place and pulling the charge handle.

"Not… _cough…._ not bad, Human," the krogan wheezed.

"Just die already," I grunted, pressing the trigger. I kept it down until the weapon groaned and whined in protest as the barrels overheated. With an effort, I bent over and picked up my pistol again, hauling the heavy weapon along as best I could.

 **"There!"** came a welcome voice over the radio. **"Can anybody read me** ** _NOW_** **?"**

As Ra is my witness, I'd never been gladder to hear that voice.

"Khentu?" I answered. "What's going on? Where are you?"

 **"Disabling a Blood Pack jamming array,"** came the answer. " **We're headed down now, level by level. Where the hell are you guys?"**

"My squad… Set, my squad's down," I answered. "I'm the only one left."

 **"Only one?"** Khentu inquired. " **What about O'Shea? What happened?"**

"Only. One. Left." I repeated. "Any news of Father… or our Pharaoh?"

Khentu apparently did not press the line of inquiry. **"Nothing yet."**

"I'm almost to Thoth," I groaned. "Meet me at the command center."

 **"Will do, brother."**

I hefted the large gun onto one shoulder as I slowly made my way forward. The inside of Thoth was a ruin. Fragments of the crashed ship had lodged into several of the lower levels, making the entire structure creak and groan unsteadily. But above all that came the noise of gunfire and battle. I made my way through the rubble as best I could, finally coming out into the main courtyard.

Mentu and Nasser stood over the body of a krogan warrior. The two brothers were standing back to back, firing at a wave of incoming vorcha. Khentu was crouched by the krogan's arm, attempting to power the fallen warrior's Omni-Tool, and at the same time firing his new shotgun one-handed. I brought up the LMG and depressed the trigger, hearing the weapon _humm_ as it entered its warm-up sequence. After what seemed like an interminable about of time, the weapon roared to life, sending out a steady stream of death.

One of the vorcha _exploded_ as its flamethrower tank caught a round. The fiery napalm coated the entire cluster of vorcha, who wailed and screeched horribly as they died. Father and Uncle Nasser wasted no time in putting down the last of the wounded before turning back to face me.

"Pharaoh… Father," I nodded in exhaustion, laying the weapon down next to me.

"Ptolemy," Father came towards me, cupping a hand to my helmet. "When we did not rendezvous with Mike, we feared the worst. Are they... are they…?"

"They are in the care of Osiris," I confirmed. "These krogan do not die easily, it seems."

"What are the Blood Pack even doing up here?" Uncle Nasser asked, impaitentily shaking his weapon, as if that would help it cool down faster. "Their quarrel is with T'Ravt on Gozu. Why would they even CARE about…"

Suddenly there was a screech as the fallen krogan's speakers bled feedback. With a shout of triumph, Khentu stepped back as the krogan's Omni-Tool suddenly projected a holographic image of a massive krogan in full armor.

 **"The Blue Sun War has shown Aria T'loak for what she truly is,"** the recording blared. " **A cheap whore unworthy of anything but death."**

"Ganar Yulaz," Father explained in a low voice to my brother and me. "Founder of the Blood Pack."

 **"RALLY UNTO ME, MY KRANNT!"** Yulaz continued, raising a clenched fist. " **We shall purge this galaxy in blood, and from the geysers shall arise the foundation of the Krogans' future."**

The image faded, replaced with the logo of the Blood Pack gang, only with some kind of crown now displayed over the skull and fist.

 **"SO SPEAKS GUNAR YULAZ, "** came an automated voice. **"EMPEROR OF THE KROGAN EMPIRE."**

"Shit." A moment of silence followed my brother's ineloquent-yet-apt response.

"This… This will plunge the entire Terminus Systems into war," Uncle Nasser said finally.

"Yes," Father nodded.

"Garm," the Pharaoh continued, a thousand plans racing through his mind. "Garm will be making for Afterlife as we speak."

"Most likely."

"We need to organize our people," Nasser stated. "In this chaos, who knows what could be happening. Gods… if Aria should die…"

Mentu Emrys pulled the trigger on the Graal shotgun he had picked up from the fallen krogan. The kick from the ludicrously-massive weapon nearly knocked our father over, but the meter-long spike found its mark – Nasser Emrys died without so much as a whimper even as he made plans that would never be spoken.

Father placed the shotgun down, making sure to place the weapon in the grip of the dead krogan. Very slowly, he walked over to his brother's body and carefully removed his helmet. Nasser Emyrs stared up at the sky, his expression peaceful, as if he was stargazing. Father reached out a hand, and gently closed the unseeing eyes, and folded both hands across his chest.

"Father…" Khentu began, but suddenly there was the sound of running feet, and shouts could be heard growing louder. The three of us shot to our feet, with me pulling the LMG back to my hand with my biotics. Khentu and Father both had their Avenger rifles in hand, and they fanned out to cover me. But when the rubble in the corner fell, it was Abdul and a party of Blood Arrows who entered, weapons at the ready.

"Mentu," Abdul exhaled in relief, "We had heard that…" Then his gaze fell upon the body behind him.

"NO!" The cry was a hoarse whisper, and the slender man dropped his weapon, running over to the body of his lover, cradling the head in his lap.

"No,' he repeated again, "no, no no no no no…"

Then broken sobs escaped his lip, and he bent his head over him, holding him close to his chest.

"Abdul." Father's voice was gentle and calm, as if he was approaching a wounded animal. Abdul only sobbed louder, and then Father grasped his shoulders and shook him to get his attention. "Abdul!"

The smaller man hiccupped, and then looked up with wheezing gasps.

"There will be a time to mourn him," Father continued in his gentle voice. "But that time is not now. Our people need us. Our people need _you_."

Abdul nodded slowly, looking down at his lover, still clutched in his arms.

"They will _pay_ for this," he managed between clenched teeth, and fresh tears were in his eyes.

"A thousand-fold, beloved of my brother," Father nodded, "Now come: he has one more task to accomplish, even in Osiris' embrace."

Holding the body in both arms, as if he was carrying a sleeping child, Father bore the body of the brother he had just murdered. By now, more and more groups of fighters had trickled into the courtyard: an eclectic group of Jackals, Vipers, and Arrows. But a universal gasp came up from the crowd as Father, and his burden, came into view.

"BROTHERS!"

Mentu Emrys' voice was hard, and full of purpose.

"Our beloved Pharaoh... is dead."

Sobs arose from several in the crowd, and many looked up with confused and dumbfounded expressions. I didn't blame any of them: their entire world had come crashing down around their ears, and the man whom they had worshipped as a living god had proven himself very much mortal.

"SLAIN by the cowards of the Blood Pack!"

"Vengeance!" Came a hoarse shout from the back of the room, that I recognized as Gideon Avram. "Vengeance!"

It was only then that I realized the true scope of Father's improvised plan: in one fell swoop, all the leaders who would have resisted Mentu's _coup_ were now shoving forward to claim a place by his side.

"ARE THE BLOOD PACK invincible, that they can kill our Pharaoh without consequences?" Father continued.

"NO!" came the ragged cry from the crowd.

"Are they immortal, that their blood cannot be shed in payment thrice over?"

"NO!" Now even Khentu's and my voice were added to the din.

"Follow me then, my brothers!" Mentu Emrys laid down his brother's body as gently as if he was placing an infant to bed, and then drew his rifle over his shoulder, and yanked on the charging handle. "Those who pledge to avenge our Pharaoh, take up arms! Steel your hearts and set your spirits aflame! TO WAR!"

* * *

 **Broken Vessel**

 _(Laila Adonis)_

 **Location: Lower Doru Docks, Omega**

The Lower Doru docks were in chaos. Near as I could figure, what had begun as a some kind of Blood Pack raid had devolved into some kind of Omega free-for-all as looters took advantage of the chaos. Around each corner seemed to be not only Blood Pack, but Brotherhood, White Tigers, Talons, freelancers, civilians... everyone was shooting at anything that moved. I crouched against a building, cursing the fact that I was unarmed in the middle of a battlefield.

As I peered around a corner, I saw a group of vorcha scrapping with a group that appeared to be some of Aria's people. Only a few feet away lay a salarian with a cast-off pistol still in his grip. It looked ancient and rusted, and I abandoned the idea of rushing out and grabbing it, as it was probably more likely to kill _me_ than anybody else the second I pulled the trigger.

A screech from behind sent me leaping to the left, only narrowly avoiding the crowbar wielded by yet another vorcha, only this one looking more emaciated and feral than the more-or-less uniformed Blood Pack members I had seen that day. I scrambled for something, _anything_ to use as a weapon, and was rewarded for my search with…. a trashcan lid.

"Fuck."

I was only vaguely aware of the words escaping me as the vorcha came on, swinging and biting with wild abandon. I parried the first blow, and lashed out with a kick. My boot caught the vorcha across the face, knocking him back several feet. Without thinking, I hurled the lid in front of me and charged, _thanking_ every spirit that there was that Khentu had not insisted on keeping my claws filed to useless nubs. The lid smashed into his shoulder, sending the crowbar flying, and my claws drew a dark line across his neck. The starving creature then sent a vicious head-butt to my chest, even as black blood bubbled from throat.

 _Spirits_ , _I hate vorcha._

But before we could resume our fight, a gunshot rang out, and a dark hole appeared in the vorcha's forehead before he collapsed in a limp heap. Whirling toward the sound, I saw a female human standing at the end of the alley, holding a gun with both hands.

"Tessa!?"

Her collar was gone, too, and she looked at the weapon in her hands as if seeing it for the first time.

"Oh _god,_ Laila," she gasped, and a half-sob escaped her, "I almost _hit you_. Oh _god,_ what if I had _missed…?_ "

The gun fell from her fingers as if it had suddenly turned into a _guano_ -viper. The poor girl sank against the wall, hyperventilating and grabbing her face.

 _Spirits, she's in shock,_ I thought, even as my feet sent me towards her. I scooped up the weapon with one hand, even as I reached out and snatched her by her dungarees, yanking her into a nearby doorway.

"Tessa," I whispered, even as the sobs continued. "I've got you,hang on, I've got you…"

Just then, two more vorcha appeared at the end of the alleyway, no doubt drawn to the sound of the shot. I lifted my pistol and fired twice, my first shot going through one of their heads, and my second rebounding off a second-hand shield generator. The golden orb dissolved around the vorcha even from my tiny weapon's one shot, but it bought its owner enough time to let out a piercing screech before a second shot caught him in the lower jaw.

"Spirits!" I cursed, pulling the Human female with me. "Tessa, stay with me! Stay with me!"

We darted down narrow alleyways, staying off the death-traps that the main streets had become. Just behind us I could hear the screeching of more vorcha growing louder and louder. Tessa was thankfully running alongside me now, but still with the wide-eyed panic of an animal escaping a predator. Which was pretty apt to our situation, I supposed.

 _There_.

My subconscious acted before I could even process it, yanking Tessa left down another narrow alley, at the far end of which could be seen familiar-looking decrepit _Ohulu_ -class corvette _._ The _Iswanee,_ against all odds, still sat locked into the docking bay. On the gangplank stood a volus in some kind of construction exo-suit, firing a massive rifle, the make and model of which I did _not_ recognize.

"Rota!" I called out. "Rota!"

The volus' head cocked sideways at the sight of two females running towards him, and then the rifle leveled in our direction.

"DOWN!"

Even as the volus' shout reached our ears, I was already pulling Tessa down onto the rusted metal floor. A massive gunshot sounded, and a yelp was all that escaped the vorcha that were coming around the corner before it burned through five or six of them. I rolled onto my back, sending three more shots back the way we had come.

"COME ON!" the volus shouted, waving an arm. "We'll cover you!"

By now more vorcha were pouring around the corner, several of them sticking weapons around first and firing blindly before venturing out themselves. Mostly these only served to hit their comrades in the back, but the sheer number of them coming now made their loss insignificant. Just then, a ground-shaking roar sounded, and suddenly vorcha were being sent left and right as a _massive_ figure came tearing through the crowd.

One of the few remaining memories of my dad was him sitting next to me around our fireplace, telling stories of his time in the army.

 _"If you're every hanging off a cliff, Laila, and an elcor is charging you,"_ he had said _, "Let go: your death will be much more painless."_

I had always assumed that he had been joking with me – every single elcor I had ever seen since then had _crawled_ on all fours, their every movement carefully thought-out and analyzed beforehand.

Now I got it.

Kapena seized a vorcha in both hands (also a sight I had never seen before) and _pulled_ , snapping the creature in half with a _pop_. Panting heavily, the elcor moved to stand beside us. Only now did I notice several bullet-wounds along his left side, and other in his right front leg.

"With grim determination," he panted. "Not sure how we're going to get out of this one, Rota."

"Not to state the obvious," I said warily, afraid of the answer, "But can we not get in the ship and leave?"

"General broadcast," Nom Rota wheezed, "Any ships coming in or out of Omega _not_ broadcasting the proper IFFs _will_ be fired upon."

"With sorrowful resignation: Ganar Yulaz just released a recording calling for Aria's death," Kapena explained. "All ships are now hostiles unless indicating otherwise."

"We may not be able to take off, but the _Iswanee_ is a more easily defendable location," I suggested.

"With mirthless amusement: except for the hold full of Batarian _Kolcet_ ," Kapena murmured. "One stray shot and this entire dock will go up in flames."

I winced. _Kolcet_ was only a few grades below rocket fuel in combustibility. Clearly, that option was off the table.

"We need to get off the street," I insisted. "Get somewhere where…"

Just then, another group of figures emerged from the shadows of the nearby buildings. These, however, didn't bear any gang insignias, or much at all, for that matter. Clothes hung on them in rags, but the weapons they clutched looked serviceable enough, which said a great deal about priorities on Omega.

"Look here, lads!" an emaciated turian in front screeched. "How much loot do'ya suppose is in the hold of that ship?"

Nom Rota stepped forward, and the weapon _hummed_ in his hands.

"Over my dead body, Palavan-clan," his voice boomed over his exo-suit's external speakers.

"Happy to oblige!" the leader crowed, "I call first with the female! She looks _tasty!"_

Now _more_ figures were emerging from the shadows, coming at us in a dead run. There was a macabre logic to it: it didn't matter how many of them went down, there was no way we would be able to take down all of them before they closed the distance.

With a flare of bright blue energy, a single figure _flashed_ forward, blasting a group of them up and over the side rail of the docking bay, sending them screaming down to the depths. Twin SMGs came up and blazed away, bringing even more of them down before she flash-stepped backwards to stand beside us.

"Don't worry lovers, cavalry's here!"

It was probably the sheer relief, but I have to confess, in that moment, I _did_ find Wasilla M'taza sexy.

A row of gunfire erupted from the nearby rooftop, and grenades began going off in the middle of the ragged mob. Within moments, the mob that had so nearly been our end melted away, leaving only the dead and dying behind. Four figures appeared from the shop's rooftop, landing gingerly and fanning out to deliver the mercy-stroke to the figures still writhing and moaning. One figure in particular, the self-proclaimed leader who had been so confident and cocky a few seconds ago, abandoned his crawl for his weapon, instead holding his hands up in a placating gesture.

"Worshipful Masters, _please, please, take mercy_ on a poor dying sou-"

Khentu Emrys brought his shotgun up from the small of his back, and spoke in his broken Turian: "Go shit yourself, clown."

The turian's face twisted in hopeless confusion before disappearing into an unrecognizable mess. Khentu fired twice more before stepping over the corpse.

"Laila?" he called out "Laila, you OK?"

"Here," I said, coming out from behind the crate where I had dragged Tessa. "It's not that… I'm not glad to see you, sir. But what in every spirit's name are you doing here?"

Khentu's helmet cocked sideways for a moment.

"Came to get you, of course."

"You…" I stammered, "Y-you came back for me?"

"Of course," he shrugged. "The Arrows look after their own. And you can knock off that 'sir' stuff. You're free, remember?"

"Ummm… thank you," I offered lamely, unsure of what else to say.

"Don't thank me too quickly," Khentu quipped, "I _am_ the idiot who sent you out here without a gun. Speaking of which…"

He reached over and flipped the shotgun he was holding to where he was holding the barrel, extending the gun towards me. I took it mutely, placing the pistol I was holding in my belt at the small of my back.

"Rota," Wasilla said slowly, looking down the length of the volus' weapon with an expression akin to lust, "… is that a M-98 _Widow_?

"Anti-Particle Rifle," Nom patted the cannon tenderly. "My most prized possession."

"Well, _Set_ ," chuckled Khen. "You and Kapena are more than welcome to come with us, for now, just until this sand-shit-storm blows over."

"With passive aggression," Kapena groaned, "Please ignore the bleeding elcor. He will be fine."

"Oh, shit," Khen muttered, "Jesse! You have Medi-gel?"

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **So the coup d'etat came and went... not exactly according to plan. But then again, I don't think anybody can exactly _plan on_ an army of Krogan showing up. **

**Now the Blood Pack War kicks off in full-swing, and we will get to see it from the perspective of the everyday Omega citizen, rather than the scope of galactic strategy.**

 **As always, thanks to Katkiller-V for the beta-reading and edits.  
Please leave your thoughts/suggestions/constructive criticisms in the review section below! To see that someone took the time to leave their thoughts always means a lot to me! **

**ROCK ON, MY FRIENDS!**

 **-Tusken1602**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

Draco Oblivion - It does seem that way, doesn't it? And what irony: Khentu doesn't want responsibility, it gets shoved onto him, and lo and behold, he's better at it than most.

BJ Hanssen - That... is actually not a bad idea. ;)

seabo76 - Well, if Ptolemy's skirmish is any indication, it's not going to be easy: these are gangbangers and thugs, not professional soldiers, by any definition or stretch of the imagination.

EE-RAH!


	10. Interlude: Shiny, Let's Be Bad Guys

**Omega's Child**

 _(Khentu Emrys)_

 **Location: Upper Fumi District, Omega**

Garm's hopes of a surprise attack on Afterlife had failed, with his attack fragmenting into dozens of smaller battles on multiple levels of Omega, like the one at our little compound on Doru. In the two weeks since the Blood Pack ship had crashed into our level, Aria T'Loak's usual hands-off approach to the gangs of Omega had become a thing of the past. The word had come, first by runners, then by Omni-Audio transfer, then by a full-on video broadcast of the Black Queen's simple message:

Fall in line, or die a nightmarish death.

Mentu Emrys, _Pharaoh_ of the Blood Arrows, had wasted no time in sending a message to Afterlife informing Aria of his obeisance. However, not all leaders had followed his example. The Blood Pack was one of the oldest mercenary organizations in the galaxy, dating all the way back to the end of the Krogan Rebellions. In that time, they had inspired or directly sponsored _dozens_ of gangs, both on Omega and elsewhere in the Terminus. These had declared for Ganar Yulaz, self-proclaimed 'God-Emperor of the Krogan', and had launched attacks in conjunction with their Krogan brothers.

It was against these that the Blood Arrows had been fighting. In Omega's signature sense of irony, we had been fighting alongside teams from the White Tigers, the Talons, and even the Brotherhood of the Fallen. The question of who controlled the territory we were now securing had been answered in a single sentence: "It all belongs to Aria."

I grinned at the simple genius of it: Aria would have control of huge tracts of recently-vacated territory, ready to be gifted to her favorites when the sands cleared. And so she had the largest gangs on the station, who on any other day would be near-rivals, fawning at her feet to _be_ those favorites.

 **"Khentu?"**

"Health to you, _Haty-a_ ," I saluted the hologram with mock solemnity. My half-brother had been promoted by Father to fill his prior role of leading the Arrows of Knesset. Which technically put him in the completely _irritating_ position of being my boss, an office which my brother wasted no opportunity to relish.

 **"Alright, alright,"** he rolled his eyes. **"Are you in position?"**

"We're here, but there is still no sign of anybody else showing up," I stated, looking around to make sure. "Who are we supposed to be meeting up with today?"

 **"The Talons,"** Tol answered, **"And a group of freelancers… I don't have a name in front of me.**

 **"Supposed to be a Batarian lord of some sort leading them,"** Abdul's voice cut in on the call. Father had chosen to keep Abdul in the role as his second-in-command, to help with the transition, and to further the ruse of him accepting the rank of _Pharaoh_ unwillingly.

"Great," I groaned. "Just we need: some off-station asshole showing up and expecting to be in charge."

 **"Now, now,"** Abdul chided, and for a moment a bit of his old joviality bled into his tone. **"Let's be on our best behavior, children."**

"I am _always_ on my best behavior," I retorted.

 **"Gods, the saddest part of that sentence is the fact that that is nearly** ** _true_** **,"** Ptolemy groaned. **"Just… try not to start another war, will you? One is quite enough for us."**

 **"And… stay safe,"** Abdul added quickly. **"I've… we've lost enough in this war already."**

I felt a twinge of guilt as the connection ended. For the brothers' differences, Abdul had always gone out of his way to develop a relationship with Ptolemy and I, even as kids. I sent up a silent prayer of thanks to gods I didn't believe in that we hadn't had to kill him. Which, as soon as I thought it, seemed like a pretty fucked-up prayer considering what we'd already done.

Or at least what Father had done.

" _Medjay_ ," Laila stated, rising from where she had been sitting. "Here they come."

I looked up to see three crawlers bearing Talon icons driving down the long and narrow street towards our location.

"Fucking finally," I answered. "And knock it off with that Egyptian title crap. We're _already_ weird enough to the other gangs on this station."

"You got it… boss," Laila replied, with what I was pretty sure was the turian version of a shit-eating grin.

"Let's get to it," I stated, with the rest of the party. "Another Crit, another Chit."

The first vehicle came to a screeching stop, worn-down brakes squealing as they attempted to calm the overworked engine. The Talons that exited via the rear ramp looked tired and worn down, and several openly wore Med-patches. The female turian leading them looked like she was still riding a stim-high. But everyone still gripped weapons nervously as our two parties drew close.

"Flash."

"Thunder," I gave the call-sign identifying that we were all on the same side, upon which the groups relaxed, if only slightly.

"You the Blood Arrows?" the Talon lieutenant asked, looking at the small group in front of her and casting her eyes towards potential hiding locations for others.

"In the flesh," I nodded, and placed a hand on my chest. "Khentu Emrys."

"Kyatia." the turian answered. "I appreciate the help."

"Hey," I shrugged. "Aria says 'jump,' we ask how high. Wasn't a third group going to be joining us?"

"They'll be along," she nodded. "Kean isn't one to turn down a fight."

" _Cieran Kean_?" Soji asked incredulously. "The human _Reyja'krem?"_

"The what-now?" I asked. "I thought he was a Batarian lord."

"Close," nodded Kyatia. "He's human, but it's a batarian title… means 'Exile,' I think?" she nodded towards Soji, who shrugged and nodded in a 'close-enough' gesture.

"Any idea on their numbers?" I asked.

"I think it's just the three of them," she replied, "But one is a Trophy-Taker, and she is worth a dozen local fighters."

Laila and I shared a look, but didn't comment further. A batarian with a trophy taker companion… I doubted there were _two_ on this station.

"He carry a cane?" I asked. "And she has a fondness for knives?"

"You know them?"

"Seen their work," I shrugged. "So let's…"

"Ma'am," one of the Talons spoke up. "Here they come."

Sure enough, the low whine of an aircar could now be heard, and an Eclipse-marked vehicle set down just behind the crawlers. A familiar set of black armor exited the vehicle, with heavy cane in hand. The Batarian-armored figure was followed by a female Batarian, and the likewise-familiar figure of a Quarian Trophy-Taker.

Soji ul Dursa drew himself up tall, instantly holstering his SMG and making a batarian gesture of respect, a gesture that Laila copied.

" _Reyja'krem_ ," Soji stated, and followed it with a batarian phrase that I couldn't really follow. Something about one of the Pillars, I thought. The Exile's head went to the right, but otherwise made no answer.

"Kean," Kyatia nodded in greeting. "These are the Blood Arrows. They'll be supporting us as well today."

"A profitable day to you," I said in my best Batarian. Based upon all batarians present stiffening, and the hurried Batarian apology from Laila, my best was still rusty. The human cocked his head to the left and said something in _another_ language that I didn't understand, to which Laila responded.

"What he'd say?" I asked.

"That your Batarian is terrible," Laila answered in a low voice, to which I shrugged. I guess the thought doesn't _always_ count.

"Kyatia," the Exile said, switching to a sharply accented Thessian, "Do we have any more intel on the target?"

The turian also nodded respectfully, and brought up an map of this area of Omega.

"A group called the Paragons of Fumi," she explained. "Their leader has sided with Garm, and is helping funnel Blood Pack up from Kima via the tunnels in his district. We go in and secure the tunnels, killing as many of the bare-faced assholes as possible."

Laila shifted slightly at the turian insult, but made no answer. I opted to follow her lead.

"I like it," I nodded. "Simple, easy to remember."

The quarian made a series of typing gestures, to which the Exile leaned forward to read the characters that appeared on her Omni-Tool.

"Any idea on numbers?" he asked. "Equipment? Tactics?"

 _Mute_ Quarian... not something you saw every day, and I could see Laila start slightly in response to the gesture for some reason, her eyes going wide in recognition.

"Our intel is spotty at best," Kyatia stated honestly, "but before the Attack, they only had a few dozen fighters total, mostly batarians. Moderately well-equipped, for Omega, but with standard gang-land tactics."

"We should also expect to run into Krogan or vorcha support," Kean cut in. "If this is where Garm's still getting people up and down, he'll have reinforced them."

"Your people look worn out," I told Kyatia. "My people are… _mostly_ fresh. Especially our Asari, but she's that way all the time."

My internal radio _clicked_ twice, Wasilla communicating her silent opinion of my joke from her sniper's point. Everyone's deadpan stares at me also serve to give every else's opinion, as well.

"If you let us, we'll take point," I continued undaunted. "Hold your people in reserve and support."

"That… would be appreciated," she admitted. "Do you have a plan?"

Laila and Soji managed to stifle snorts of derision at the innocent inquiry, but only just.

"This location here," I answered, bringing up a close view of the Paragons' zone. "Looks like a hardware store? We're gonna rob it."

Puzzled looks came across everyone's faces, or at least, those who weren't wearing helmets.

"We're not in Arrow armor or insignias," I explained further. "The Paragons will think we're just another group of assholes trying to take advantage of this sand-stormed chaos. So when they send what they _think_ will be enough guns to deal with _us_ …"

"We ambush them from here, here and here," Kean answered, highlighting three locations on the map. "Works for me."

Kyatia looked the image over, and then gave a curt nod. "Looks good enough," she shrugged. "We'll be there."

"Then let's go," I grinned, spinning down my Omni-Tool. "We're burning daylight, after all."

I spun on my heel, not bothering to look and see if the others were joining me in chuckling at my _hilarious_ use of the batarian phrase.

* * *

 **Broken Vessel**

 _(Laila Adonis)_

 **Location: Upper Fumi District, Omega Station.**

"Forgive him, Reyja'krem," Soji bowed his head respectfully as Khen walked away chuckling, "He means nothing but respect in his butchering of our noble tongue."

"Is he... always like this?" the female batarian asked me. "This... happy?"

"Usually worse," I answered. "Today is a serious day, believe it or not."

"Pillars, shoot me now," the _Reyja'krem_ muttered, and the female punched him in the shoulder.

"Don't give Voya ideas!" she hissed.

That was when the quarian and I looked at each other's faces for the first time... or rather, my face to her armored helmet.

"Voya'Chi vas Xentha," I stated in greeting, nodding slightly. The quarian cocked her head slightly, and then a hand went to her knife hilt.

"Voya?" Kean asked, looking from her to me. "Am I missing something?"

"We were cellmates," I stated slowly. "In Shith's."

 _That_ earned me a slight head-tilt to the right in respect. "Ah. Damn. He's dead, agonizingly slow if that makes you feel any better."

"The fact that the she is armed and standing here led me to believe that," I nodded. "But yes… I am glad to know that _shit-stain_ is gone to the ancestors' judgement."

"Is that your _master_ , then?" the female asked, nodding at Khentu. "Forgive me… I didn't see a collar."

"He _was_ ," I explained. "His father gave me to him as a… present. But he's since freed me, as soon as he was able," I added quickly, as the quarian's body language tensed.

"And you're still working for him?" the female batarian continued, even more confused.

"It's… complicated," I stated after a moment, "Miss…?"

"Rane," she introduced herself, "Rane'li ul Ben'mass."

"I owe a debt, Miss Rane," I explained, and realized again my poor choice of words when I saw their reactions. "Not one of money… one of…. _spirits,_ the turian word is a _Heart_ -Debt."

I blinked at my own words. In all the hubbub of the past week, I hadn't had the opportunity to frame these thoughts to _myself_ , much less have any kind of conversation with Khen about it.

"He gave me my life back," I heard myself speak. "And I… he needs my help right now."

The female batarian nodded slowly as we walked, and I realized exactly how much I was venting.

"Your pardon, ma'am," I stammered. "I didn't… I mean, I shouldn't have…"

"That's quite alright," Rane answered quickly. "I understand. More than you know…"

The last sentence was directed less at _me_ and more towards the figure of the _Reyja_ ' _krem_ , who was arguing with Voya about… something, it was hard to follow the one-sided conversation.

"Laila!" Khentu called out from a huddle of our squad.

"I take my leave, Miss ul Ben'mass," I stated quietly. "Pillars guide you in your battle today."

"And yours," the Batarian stated politely, as we rejoined our respective parties.

"Alright, everyone," Khentu was saying as I walked up. "So the plan is to pull off an Old-Fashioned, pulling the responders into an Omega Sunrise… yes, Waz?"

The asari lowered her hand from where she had raised it in a question.

"I'm afraid to ask, but if we're doing an Old-Fashioned, who is the Damsel?"

Khentu just grinned.

"I _hate_ all of you. _So_ much."

"We would ask Laila, but she doesn't have the hips for it," Agrippa quipped, shooting me a sidelong glance. I waved my hand in front of my face in the turian gesture for 'clanless'. He just grinned at the insult.

"Jesse, Barco, you'll be first in the door," Khentu continued. "Laila, you're with me. Agrippa, you're overwatch with Soji."

"Makes you wish we still had Rota's portable cannon of a rifle, doesn't it?" I asked as we broke up, beginning our walk to our destination.

"The Carrd District has the best elcor hospital on the station," Khen shrugged. "I wasn't going to make him leave Kapena."

I nodded in understanding. "Any word on Tess?" I asked.

Khentu's smile faded, and he grew grim for a moment.

"She's back with Tol," he answered. "She's… not sleeping well, unless he's there."

I nodded. "Everyone reacts differently to almost dying, or having to take a life. Both in her case."

Khentu's nonchalant smile returned, as did his carefree shrug. "I dunno," he replied. "I killed my first man at… _Amun-Ra_ , I was nine: drugged-up Batarian came at me with a knife made from a tin can, high as a kite on Red Sand. I don't think he even felt it when I stabbed him in the upper-left eye with my dagger."

He looked over at me. "What about you?"

"Twelve," I answered. "One of the other slaves in my pen decided he liked touching little girls. So I waited until he got close… and then severed his jugular with my teeth."

"Niiiice," Waz chortled next to us, double-checking her rifle before handing the large _Naginata_ -model rifle to me, along with her helmet. "Take good care of this, lover," she sighed, and then unzipped a generous portion of her combat bodysuit, giving any casual observer an excellent view of her… assets. "Mamma's gotta go to work."

She strode across the way, sashaying her hips as she entered the store in question.

 **"Comms check, comms check,"** came the Talon's voice over our radios. **"Everybody hear me?"**

 **"We copy,"** came the _Reyja'krem's cool_ voice. **"We're all set here."**

"We've just sent in our Damsel," Khentu answered. "Stand-by for a good Old-Fashioned Stick-Up."

 **"Kyatia, are you understanding any of this babbling?"** the human stated wearily.

 **"Not a word,"** the female turian admitted after a moment.

 **"Oh, good, at least we're still sane."**

 **"As sane as anyone on Omega."**

"A prophet is never _karking_ appreciated in his own country," Khentu swore quietly, cutting off the comm line and looking back over to me. "Wait for Waz's signal."

After about five minutes, a _click-click_ came over the comms, at which point Jesse and Barco ran the eight or so paces from the ration-stand where they had been standing, the massive drell kicking open the storefront door before the salarian tossed in a home-made flash-bang. The device went off with a massive _THUD_ that sounded more like a sledgehammer hitting pavement than any kind of explosion, and then smoke began pouring out of the shattered windows. Khentu and I came in at a run, following closely behind the first two.

It was a fairly nondescript storefront, only instead of the nuts and bolts I had been expecting, rows and rows of weapons stood along the walls, with others in cases along the side.

 _Oh…_ _that_ _kind of hardware._

"EVERYONE STAY DOWN!" Khentu's external mic boomed. "We are evil beings here, hells-bent on wrongdoing and all matter of crime. Stay down, and live to see another day!"

A batarian in a light suit of armor reached a hand up on the counter, pulling himself up to a half-standing position. "Do you have _ANY IDEA_ who you're stealing from, you _karking…?"_

Jesse spun left, putting a single shot of his rifle into the shopkeeper's neck, between the breastplate and helmet.

"Anybody else have a witty comeback?" the drell asked the room of prostrate figures. Six more batarians lay on the ground, along with two salarians. Which ones were gang members and which were customers, it was hard to tell, especially in the hazy smoke.

The batarians were clustered on one side of the store, around a half-naked asari figure, to whom I passed her rifle and helmet back after pulling her back up to her feet.

"I see you managed to get your tits out again," I said in a low voice as Wasilla zipped her suit back up to her neck.

" _Ugh_ … next time, _you seduce_ the store guards," she moaned after she replaced her helmet on her head. "My head is still ringing."

"You!" Khentu yanked a salarian to his feet. "You know where they keep the chits?"

"N-n-no chits," the salarian stammered. "W-w-we only deal in credit he…"

Khentu's pistol swung, and a slug went through the second salarian's head before returning to the first's head.

"Lie to me again, and it'll be _your brains_ on the wall," he stated calmly. "Now tell me what I want to know, or make your peace with your dear and fluffy lord."

"Don't tell him _shit_ , Domri," one of the batarians hissed through clenched teeth. Waz hefted her rifle and _boomed_ a shot at point-blank range. The guard's head and most of his neck disappeared in a flash of red liquid.

"Terrible kisser, by the way," she stated to the rest of the startled guards. "Honestly, how many of you have to die before you learn to shut up?"

"Now open the safe… _Domri_ , wasn't it?" Khentu repeated.

"A-a-alright," the salarian stammered nervously, and suddenly a very foul smell began emanating from the nervous clerk. Based on Barco's scoff of distain, I was pretty sure he smelled it too. As the salarian bent over the counter, typing in a code to the large safe there, our mics clicked again.

 **"Here they come,"** Someone, probably a junior Talon, reported.

 **"Looks like our intel was correct,"** Kyatia followed him up. **"We've definitely got krogan** ** _and_** **a spirits-load of vorcha coming your way."**

"Right then," Khentu said as the safe door came open. Domri got a pistol-shot to the side of his face, and then Khen swept the safe's contents into a leather shoulder-bag.

"You have no idea the sand-storm that's about to descend on you, _Human_ ," another of the Batarians sneered. " _None_ of you will live to see tomorrow's-"

Khentu's pistol cut off whatever threat he was going to make, and he stood over the body, shaking his head, and then turned to the four remaining Batarians.

"First rule of survival here, lads," he said, "You wanna live on Omega? Keep your mouths shut."

Barco, Jesse, and Wasilla's guns all barked, and Khentu was suddenly looking down at four more corpses.

"Of course, that's not a _guaranteed_ rule of survival," he grinned wryly. "Alright, Barco, Laila, stand ready with the overloads. Jesse, you and I will keep their heads down. Waz, throw singularities and warps to keep them funneled into the street."

"These _are_ some good-looking weapons here," Waz stated admiringly as we set up along the shopfront.

"Don't bother," I answered. "Display weapons usually have the capacitors removed, so the weapon will just blow up whoever tries to use them without buying."

"The weapons in the cases are just projections," Barco added. "That Hornet SMG has blinked on and off twice since we've been here."

"Don't worry," Khentu cut in. "We kill all these fuckers, and then the store will be ours to loot. Aria's just concerned about territory: nobody will give a fuck about the contents of the store.

The street outside, so busy just a few minutes before, had emptied of civilians within seconds of the first flash-bang going off. Deserted, it was easy to see the dark figures flitting back and forth between cover, spurred on by the giant figures of two or three krogan, who occasionally kicked or roared at the more hesitant of their vorcha charges to get them to move forward. The way Khen's helmet tilted, I could tell he was grinning.

"Barco."

"Don't make me play the song," the salarian sighed.

"Do it."

"Alright, your funeral…"

Suddenly, every external speaker on the street began _blaring_ a disconcordant wail:

 _"RELAX, DON'T DO IT, JUST MOVE IT TO THE GROOVE-IT!"_

"Khentu." Wasilla's tone was borderline _murderous_. "I'm. Going. To. Kill. You."

"AsarRave?" I asked, recognizing the song. "Seriously? Nobody other than petulant teenagers and angsty maidens listen to…"

" _ASARI LIPS WILL LICK, LOVE THAT KROGAN DICK… THAT'S RIGHT, LOVERS, WE'RE HERE!"_

That word ' _lovers'_ rang in my head and I slowly turned towards the asari next to me.

"Waz…" I said slowly. "Is… that… your voice?"

"It was a _phase_ , OK?" Wasilla M'Taza protested, a little too quickly, "It was _literally_ five decades ago, for Athame's sake!"

"Spirits…" I said in a low voice. " _You're_ M'Tazzle Razzle Dazzle?"

"Can we get back to killing people, please?!"

Just then, as the Paragon's reinforcements were looking around in confusion, trying to find the source of the truly annoying music, gunfire erupted from the rooftops, and grenades began exploding.

" _Oh, thank the goddess_ ," Wasilla muttered, and flung a singularity out into the street, pulling three figures out from cover. Barco and I began flinging overloads out of the store window at the figures running for the store. Three or so vorcha went down immediately, and shields began to spark under the combined fire. A figure ran forwards, shouldering a massive cylinder in our direction.

 _"_ Oh, crap, _rocket!_ " I called out in warning. Agrippa's and Waz's shots hit the batarian only seconds apart, but not before he had pulled the trigger, sending a stream of fire barreling towards us. Waz dropped her rifle and flared her biotics. Her quick thinking is probably what saved us, as the dark energy brought the rocket up into the roof rather than entering the store and killing us all. As it was, it still brought enough of the roof down to block our view from the storefront window, forcing us to shift positions. Khentu and I moved out the door to a nearby flipped streetcar.

" _YEAH, We're gonna STAY HERE, YEAH, we have NO FEAR…"_

"This song…" I groaned as the Asari punk band still blared from the few speakers that still worked. "It's terrible."

"Genius, isn't it?" Khentu said next to me, waiting for his rifle to cool. "Imagine their embarrassment when _this_ is the last thing they're listening to when they die."

"Just as likely it's the last thing _you'll_ be listening to when _you_ die," I retorted. Khentu's head cocked to the side, and he nodded slowly.

"Shit, that's true. Didn't really think this through."

"Spirits, _what a surprise,_ " I muttered, leaning left to launch an overload and a shotgun blast down-range. "Rushing… rushing us, they're rushing us."

"ANYTIME you want to get involved, _Exile,_ " Khentu stated into the radio. "Don't feel like you have to wait for an invitation."

Just in that moment, a string of tech-mines detonated down the length of the narrow street, scattering the Paragons and their Blood Pack allies into disarray. The Reyja'krem's black-armored figure came down into cover with us, firing a _massive_ pistol in the enemy's direction.

"Some of us fight _smart_ , Arrow," his voice muttered in High Batarian, before Rane and he began flinging mines forward again.

"What he'd say?" Khentu asked, evidently not understanding the more elaborate language.

"He said _cover him_ ," I lied, not having time or patience for Khen's ego at the moment.

"What's he think we're doing?" Khentu muttered, leaning to fire his rifle blindly around the car. "Dancing a jig?"

" _He_ thinks you're wasting time and bullets," the _Reyja_ 'krem muttered, now in Thessian. "So perhaps dancing might be more beneficial in this moment."

"Well if that cane is any indication, _your dancing_ days may be behind you," Khentu grinned, replying in the same language. "So we'll do what we can."

Cackling hysterically, Khentu fired his jump-blasts in his boots, boosting him over the top of the aircar in a dramatic flip. He ran forward, downing another Paragon who had stuck his head out to try and pin us down. As if in answer, a group of vorcha sprang up to rush him.

"Voya," the Reyja'krem said, his tones... oddly permissive. "Go."

A sniper rifle _cracked_ , and then a dark figure was beside Khentu, twin knives flashing. In what seemed like only seconds, the vorcha were collapsing, slashed to ribbons, and her rifle was on her shoulder again as she moved forward, dripping black blood, leaving a bewildered Khentu standing there, trying to figure out what had happened.

"I _had them_ ," he insisted, as we moved up to his position. A scoffing sound was the only answer he got.

"Sure you did, boss," I answered before he could tell _me._ "Sure you did."

Talons were now dropping to the street level as well to finish off the last of the would-be posse, most of whom had been cut down in the first few minutes of the ambush.

"A good start," the Talon lieutenant stated, looking around at the bodies. "But all of this won't mean a damn thing if we can't get those tunnels sealed."

"Then what we waiting for?" Khentu grinned. "You guys want to take a nap or something?"

"We're ready to move," Kean stated simply.

We divided into the four vehicles we had: our armored car, and three the Talons had brought. Kean and his party had borrowed the aircar from Eclipse, and it wasn't armored anyway, so they wound up sitting on the opposite side of our vehicle. The Quarian was _visibly_ tense in the crowded vehicle, looking like she would like nothing better than to knife us all.

"So… T'Mazzle Razzle Dazzle?" I said to Wasilla, more to break the silence than anything else.

"I was a _young_ and _stupid_ maiden with more tits than sense," she sighed. "We had _one_ hit song, and it all went to our heads. Took me a long time to get out of that… _weird_ place in my life."

"But I mean, _how_ cool is it to have a celebrity in our squad?" Khentu cut in, with that insufferable human expression on his face that showed all of his teeth.

" _Why_ I told you about that time in my life is beyond me," Wasilla growled.

"Umm… because you were drunk off your ass?" Khentu offered. "Seriously though, we should broadcast that song on speakers whenever we go anywhere. That way people will know…"

Wasilla's rifle leveled, and a concussive round _boomed,_ unusually loud in the closed space of the cargo truck. Khentu's shields and armor saved him from any _real_ harm, but it was still enough to kock him onto the truck's floor, wheezing as all the air was knocked out of his lungs.

"Oh, _Goddess_ , sorry about that," Wasilla intoned in a deadpan voice, "I was cleaning it, and it went off. How clumsy of me."

"Just glad she _did it,_ and not me," the Reyja'krem sighed from his seated position. "I would have aimed for your head just to end this conversation."

That caused Miss Rane kicked him in the shin, a gesture that was more symbolic than anything else in our seated positions. But before anybody else could say anything, Jesse leaned his head back from the driver's seat.

"Trouble ahead!" he called out. "Barricade."

"Well, it was too much to hope they'd _all_ be idiots," Agrippa sighed, shouldering his Phaestron. "Khen, you alright?"

A fist came up with thumb upraised. Agrippa looked over at me with a confused expression.

"It's a human gesture," I explained. "It means, 'I'm good.'"

"Half go left, half go right?" The Reyja'krem said, managing to make the suggestion sound like a question than an order.

"At your shoulder, _Reyja'krem_ ," Soji murmured in a low voice, which was acknowledged with a curt nod.

"Jesse, you go with him," Khentu added, grunting as he heaved himself upright again. "That gives us five for each side of the street."

"Quite wise," the drell nodded. "Dropping ramp in five, four, three, two…?"

The rear ramp came down, and we fanned right, with the Reyja'krem and his cadre moving left, with Soji and Jesse in support. Almost immediately, shots began peppering the street, though none of with any degree of power or accuracy. The Talon vehicles also pulled up, and the heavy machine gun on the lead vehicle opened fire.

The Paragons had obviously not had much time to erect the barricade opposite, but they had done well enough in the short time between the ambush and now. The bottom of the barricade was made of solid timbers, with sheet metal and sandbags making up the top, it looked like. Above one of these a shirtless figure appeared, a makeshift firebomb in hand. A rifle boomed, _Chi's,_ I thought, and the half-full bottle of spirits exploded in his hand, send an impressive-sized column of flame upwards, mingled with the dying cries of its would-be user and the two or three fighters closest to him.

"Pop smoke!" Khentu called out, and Agrippa fired a cylinder from his weapons' under-barrel attachment. The cloud of black smoke that resulted meant that we hidden from the defender's view, but the other side of the chit was that now we couldn't see them, either. Incinerates and overloads began flying forwards, disappearing into the smoke with the grunts and curses of unseen foes.

As we kicked open a door to take cover in a nearby shop, an angry face appeared in front of me, a short butcher's cleaver upraised. By sheer instinct, my shogun fired, catching him in the knees. The batarian screamed in agony and went down thrashing wildly. My other hand came up, pistol in hand, and barked once, ending his suffering.

"Second floor," Khentu ordered. "Let's get above the fuckers."

We moved up the spiral iron staircase to what appeared to be a floor of apartment suites. Khentu kicked one of the doors down and made his way inside. Through the small barred window of the bedroom, I could see that the barricade below us was now very much on fire, the pillar of flame driving both defenders and attackers back. The five of us opened fire on the Paragons as they retreated, and I triggered an Incinerate to send them on their way.

"Next building," Khentu barked, and we made our way through the maze of rooms until we came to the end of the row.

"There's our target," Agrippa pointed, a large warehouse now in clear view at the end of the street. "That's their headquarters."

"Barco, can you bring the truck?" Khentu asked.

"Sure," the salarian nodded, spinning up his Omni-Tool to bring the remote-piloting of our vehicle online. We made our way down to the street level, where we met up with the rest of our assault party.

"A strong position," Kyatia said grimly, stealing a glance around the corner. "They'll have snipers on the top levels."

"And more than likely krogan and vorcha on the ground floor," Kean nodded. "Assuming that they're not bringing up _more_ every second we delay."

 _"Spirits,"_ Kyatia swore. "We could lose half our people assaulting that place."

"So how 'bout we just…don't?" The other two commanders looked at Khentu, who placed a hand on his hip and met their helmeted stares evenly.

"Look where the warehouse _is_ ," he continued, pointing up above the building in question. Sure enough, the warehouse was built _into_ the rock face of the station, with the rock walls rising up and over us, forming the foundations of the level above us.

"A few well-aimed rockets, a few stalagtites in the _wrong_ places, and _bam_ , Sobek's your uncle."

The other two stared at the rock face for a long moment, and then at each other, and then at Khentu.

"That's…" I said slowly, " _actually_ a good plan."

"You don't need to sound so surprised," Khentu objected.

"Sounds simple," Kean said. "Do we _have_ rockets?"

"Coming up now," Khentu gestured to the truck approaching us. "Been saving them for a special occasion: I'd say 'Saving us from assaulting an impregnable position and getting ourselves killed' qualifies."

"You'll hear no argument here," Kyatia shrugged. " _If_ we can pull it off."

"We have three launchers," Khentu continued. "You two have any marksmen in your parties?"

And so within a few minutes, Agrippa and two other Talons were hefting the cylindrical launchers on their shoulders and, using the truck for cover, moved out from the corner into close range. Bullets _pinged_ and sparked off the reinforced armor of the truck, but the defenders were obviously not taking _one_ vehicle advancing as a serious threat.

"Steady," Kean's voice came over the general channel. "Unless they're _all_ monumental idiots, as soon as they realize what's up, they're gonna come at us in earnest."

"Well, here's hoping for idiocy," Khentu responded. "Fire!"

All three tubes belched flame, and three rockets streaked up towards the ceiling. A few taunts and jeering laughs could be heard from the defending compound, but these were silenced as soon as the rockets made impact. The three explosions weren't _nearly_ enough to cause a reaction as large as we wanted or hoped, but the amount of loose rock that rained down on the building served as proof of concept for the tactic.

The sporadic gunfire that had been sent our direction was now renewed with redoubled intensity.

"Anytime…" Khentu said, putting a hand up to his helmet.

From our side, Wasilla and the other snipers began picking off the gunfighters who showed themselves, putting a healthy amount of fear into those that remained. Another volley of light missiles fired, and the rubble falling grew a bit larger, as did the cracks in the rock face. Suddenly, the large double doors facing us flew open, and giant armored figures rumbled forward at a pace I had never seen krogan manage.

 _"Come on…"_ Khentu crooned, as if he was calling a wayward varren pup. "Come on, big fellas…"

The closest krogan trod on the proximity-triggered mine that we had been throwing forward this entire time, the action going unnoticed with all the rocket-fire. The krogan's foot came _off_ at the ankle, and he pitched forward onto his face, bellowing pain.

Which triggered three other mines simultaneously.

He _disappeared_ in an orange cloud of meat and blood, and even in their Blood-Raged fury, the rest of the charge paused at the sight. Which meant that the group of krogan now stood out in the open, completely exposed. Two of them went down almost at once, sniper rounds piercing their throats and other weak points in their armor. Two of the krogan hefted giant shields into place, opting to fall back under the hail of fire the rest of our party was sending their direction.

The other one opted to take his chances going forward, roaring a challenge as he came towards the truck. Two more mines exploded as he passed them, depleting his shields and shredding armor, but a blue haze of a biotic barrier flashed around him, and he came on stubbornly. One of the Talons with us lost his nerve, and leveled the rocket launcher at the charging figure.

"Don't waste that…," Khentu began, but then the light missile streaked forward, and the brave Krogan vanished in the resulting explosion that spattered krogan guts _everywhere._ The other two rockets streaked upwards, and the two explosions so high above us seemed tiny, but then the _entire_ rock face began shifting.

"I believe that's our signal," Khentu said, false levity lacing the tense words. "Come on, lads, let's make like a baby and head out of this bitch."

The truck engine roared, and we each grabbed a handhold as it turned and streaked back for the corner. But even as we reached there, it was fairly obvious that we were still not safe.

"FALL BACK!" Kyatia called. "Everyone get back!"

Massive boulders were now coming down on the Paragon's warehouse, tearing through the concrete walls and crashing through the roof. _Something_ inside flashed, and then suddenly the entire warehouse… _exploded_ , sending rubble and shrapnel in all directions, like the station's largest frag grenade. I was vaguely aware of a somebody grabbing me and hauling me into the shelter of a nearby building before the shockwave hit us, sending us all to the ground and filling the air with concrete dust. Here and there, bits of rock and building still clattered around us, like a crude parody of rain.

"Everybody OK?" Kyatia called out, the Talon commander coughing as she regained her feet. "All squads, sound off."

A few minutes later, groups of Talons were combing through the rubble of the warehouse, confirming what was already painfully obvious, but had to be done anyway: the few survivors were being put down, and the tunnels leading to Kima were sealed beneath about twenty feet of solid concrete.

"GOD-EMPEROR will kill you!" I heard a vorcha hiss at the _Reyja'krem_ 's feet. "All will burn!"

"Heard it," the human Exile sighed, and put a bullet through the wounded creature. "Bored of it. Done over here: Rane?"

The female batarian's reply was lost to my hearing as Khentu groaned and sat down next to me, taking off his helmet.

"We're headed back to the store," he sighed, "The useless displays have probably been taken, but I doubt anybody's had time to set up cutting torches or heavy equipment to crack the vault."

"Probably not," I agreed, and stood to my feet, only to realize that Khentu was still sitting.

"So…" he began, and cleared his throat nervously.

"What?" I asked, sitting back down.

"I just heard from Ptolemy," he explained. "The lockdown of the station has been lifted, and Rota is taking the _Iswanee_ back to Citadel space at the end of next shift. Tess… Tess is going with him."

"Oh," I replied, "I see."

"Do you?"

"Do I?"

He shook his head and stared at the helmet in his lap. "You're going to make me ask it, aren't you?"

"Ask what?" I wondered, genuinely confused.

"Are you… dammit, _will_ you stay?" he finally managed. "We could… no, _I could_ use your help to keep this circus running."

There was a long pause with neither of us saying anything. Then Khentu's eyes went wide.

" _Oh, gods_ , not as a slave," he explained hurriedly. " _Gods no_ , not with collars or anything like that. You'd be _paid_. Not well, not all the time, but you'd be…"

"I will," I cut him off. "I'll stay."

"Really?" Khentu's look of disbelief, surprise, and incredulity was mingled with an emotion I hadn't seen before, and couldn't really place: _joy_ , maybe? "You will?"

"This place is…" I began, and started over. "Invictus hasn't been home for me in almost a decade. As fucked up as it may seem, _this_ place has been more a home to me than any other."

"Great!" Khentu answered, and then realized it was a little _too_ enthusiastic. "I mean, um…. Great. That's… that's great. It's really… ummm…. Really…"

"Great?" I offered.

"Exactly," Khentu grinned. "See? Earning your pay already."

He stood to his feet, folding his rifle away on his back and reaching for his helmet.

"We're done here, Arrows!" he called out. "One more stop, and then let's go home!"

 _Home._

The word echoed over and over again in my mind as we loaded back in the cargo truck and resumed our journey. All my life I had been mocked and reviled by my own kind as _bare-faced_ : clanless, without hearth or kin. For turians, that is the lowest of the low: it means no ancestors to whisper advice to eager ears. It means no descendants to lay your bones to rest besides those who came before you. It means no one to laugh with your victories, no one to weep with your sorrows.

 _Home_.

Perhaps all that had changed today.

* * *

 **Author's Note:  
**

 **And so ends Act 1 of this story!**

 **Hope you guys have enjoyed it! I know I've had tons of fun writing from the POV of a nobody/everyday citizen of Omega. As far as Act 2 or even possibly 3 of this story goes, I live by a very simple rule: If people want to read it, I will write it.**

 **Special thanks to Katkiller-V** **for the edits, and letting me borrow his wonderful sandbox of a ME-fanverse.** **Please leave your thoughts/suggestions/constructive criticisms in the review section below!**

 **ROCK ON, MY FRIENDS!**

 **-Tusken1602**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

BJ Hanssen: Hey, it's like I've always said: When life gives you a shipful of murderous Krogan, make High Treason...

Draco Oblivion: Definitely gonna be anti-Krogan bias, at the very least, but Mentu does represent another fundamental shift in the Blood Arrows' leadership. I really enjoy writing Khentu and Laila's scenes.

seabo76: Hehehe... I see what you did there. ;)

EE-RAH!


	11. Act 2: Another Arrival

**Omega's Child**

 _(Khentu Emrys)_

 _Date: 05-21-2184_

 **Location: Lower Doru Docks, Doru District, Omega Station**

* * *

The shuttle coming down on the docks was worn, beat-up, and bore more than a few marks from weapons fire along the bulkhead, but it was a welcome sight nonetheless.

My brother Ptolemy was finally arriving back on the station.

Less than a year after succeeding Uncle Nasser as Pharaoh, Father and several of the other gang leaders received a message from Afterlife, "requesting" companies of their best fighters to supplement her own troops in Aria and Sederis' war against Ganar Yulaz and his Blood Pack. I of course, had _jumped_ at the chance to get off this rock, but in his _infinite wisdom_ Father chose _Ptolemy_ to be the commander of the Blood Arrow company that had been campaigning with Aria's people for the full year-long duration of their "volunteer" enlistment.

And so, here I was, standing on the edge of the dock, leading the welcome home committee. Once the all-clear was sounded and we were allowed to approach the landed ship, I could already see him on the landing platform, directing his party here and there to move their gear off the vessel. His hair had grown out, as well as a not-unimpressive goatee, and he was in a completely different suit of armor than the one he had left in.

All in all, he looked disgustingly the part of the conquering hero returning home. No doubt one of the Sand Jackals would have had a fainting fit at the sight or just jizzed in his robes. But before I came within earshot, a dark-skinned girl seized him by the shoulders and kissed him long and hard before shoving him back and walking off, followed by a large group of the Volunteer Company. Ptolemy took a few seconds to recover his breath, and then suddenly noticed my presence, hand on hip.

"You and Isola?" I smirked, "Really?"

The grin that met my own was sheepish but defiant. "Shut up…"

"No, I mean, I get it," I goaded, "fucking Bomazi's oldest daughter is a _great_ way to ensure the Pit Vipers' allegiance. One question: is her dick as big as she acts like it is?"

"Come here, you…"

The embrace that followed was surprisingly affectionate for Ptolemy, whose hug was just a tad on the 'fierce' side.

"You lucky bastard," I teased, when it finally ended.

"Um, no, that's you," Ptolemy winked, "You got to stay here."

"You got to get off this rock!" I countered. "Have adventures and battles and see different worlds!"

Ptolemy made a dismissive gesture, even as I took his duffle bag from him and walked with him up the docks towards a _FastTravel_ station.

"In reality, it was really boring," he insisted. "We weren't put on any of the dangerous fronts, just securing positions that were already taken. We only had one really big fight on Altakiril, and it wasn't even against krogan: it was against another group who had mutinied against their officers."

"No, no, no," I cut him off, "You're telling your story _all_ wrong: to hear Father talk about you, you've been slaughtering the krogan by the thousands on Tuchanka itself, to avenge Uncle Nasser's death."

"Oh, gods," Ptolemy groaned.

"Oh, come on," I continued, "We both know that Father sent _you_ because he wanted you to go win glory in battle so the rest of these assholes will actually follow you when you become Pharaoh."

Ptolemy's face fell, his voice becomming lower, more serious. "Ivan followed me, so did Rasheed. Look how much good it did them."

I winced as I remembered the news coming back of their deaths in battle, but I paused and grabbed his arm.

"It's _War,_ Tol: People die in war," I stated. "Plus, staying here isn't a guarantee of survival either: Gideon Avram bought it in a Consortium raid, and he never even left Little Egypt."

Ptolemy gave a slight nod, but didn't seem reassured at my words.

"Well, at any rate," I went on, "Nobu will be relieved to see you. This means he can go back to his day-job of trucking, and _you_ can resume doing your job of running the Arrows of Knesset, you lazy bastard."

 _That_ brought a half-smile to his face, and we resumed our walk.

"How has the place been?" Ptolemy asked. "And don't say…"

"Oh, you know," I butted in, "Same old, same old."

Ptolemy slugged me in the shoulder, the usually-playful gesture backed with biotic power.

"It's been great!" I added hurriedly, "Father's managed to hold everything together, and we've experienced some growth as well: there's a batarian bakery in Little Egypt now, and Powell's got several turians and batarians working in his shop."

"You're kidding," Ptolemy replied, "Aliens? In Little Egypt?"

"I'm not," I insisted, "Auntie even acquired three asari and a pair of batarians to add her menagerie at the Sands. I _told_ you that you made a good choice when you made her a formal _Hyksos_ of the AKs."

"I wanted to give that office to _you_ ," Ptolemy stated in a serious tone. "You could have been running the AKs all this time, Khen. _Then_ maybe Father would start taking you seriously."

"And be weighed down by all that responsibility?" I laughed, "Nah, not for me. I'm the _Medjay_ , remember? That comes with enough duties."

"Meaning that you get _Laila_ to handle all of those duties," Ptolemy said, as we walked up to the turian in question, still leaning on our vehicle to keep it safe. "Laila, I like the new tattoo."

The red and white arrowhead that had been tattooed on her face _was_ very striking, when I looked at it objectively. She had gotten super emotional when she had it done, something I didn't understand until she had explained the significance of turians and their facial markings signifying their _family_ or chosen clan.

"That's exactly what he means by 'responsibilities'," She smiled, taking the bag from my hand. "Welcome back, _Haty-a_."

"Hey now," I objected as Ptolemy nodded at her in greeting, " _I'm_ the one who negotiated the truce with the other gangs after the Attack."

Laila rolled her eyes. "Organizing an orgy and inviting the other delegates to attend does not count as higher politics, _Medjay_."

"Hey, got the job done, didn't it?" I moved to the driver's seat and took the controls. "Hop in, big brother, your chariot awaits! We'll drop you off at the Golden Pyramid. Father will be thrilled to see you."

"Drop me off?" Ptolemy puzzled, "You're not coming?"

"Things are..." I winced, "...tense between us, pretty much since you first left."

"Khen…"

Laila came to my rescue, leaning over to talk to Ptolemy in the backseat. " _The Pharaoh_ has been… _less_ than thrilled with the number of aliens the _Medjay_ has allowed into Little Egypt," she said tactfully, "and the autonomy they've been granted."

Now it was Ptolemy's turn to wince. "Ahh," he stated understandingly. "So it _wasn't_ Father's idea to let in aliens into Little Egypt. I assume he also objected to Khen's keeping you as his second?"

Laila shrugged. "Those…among others."

"What others?"

"A Flotilla quarian pilgrim to replace Shifty," I explained, "and after Barco lost his leg to that Krogan berserker, I put him in charge of our cyber-security."

"About time we weeded out that junkie," Ptolemy sniffed, "As for the others, they all sound like solid candidates for the jobs."

"Tell that to Father."

"I will," Ptolemy nodded resolutely. "Being out in the world… really opened my eyes, brother. If we're gonna make on in Aria's world, we have to play by Aria's rules. Pretending we're our own little world unto ourselves isn't going to cut it anymore."

"Hey," I said with a ceremonial prayer-clap, "from your mouth to the gods' ears. Aaaaaand here we are."

With the devastation wrought by the Blood Pack Ship nearly two years ago now, Mentu Emrys had begun the reconstruction of Thoth from the ground up, literally. The structure that had replaced the converted apartment building resembled _nothing_ of the structure for which it was named, but the Golden Pyramid had been built as a fortress, and was _much_ more streamlined as a place from which to run the enclave of Little Egypt.

"Tol," I said, pulling up to the security gate in front. "I'm glad you're back." Nobody was more surprised than I was that I actually _meant_ it.

"So am I, little brother," Ptolemy grunted, hefting his duffle bag over his shoulder as he exited the truck. "So am I."

As he walked towards the gate, three slaves ran out to meet him, one of them taking the bag, and two flanking him as he walked in. I snorted at the sight, surprised that Father hadn't told them to _carry_ the favorite son and chosen heir on their shoulders.

"Is everybody together?" I asked Laila.

"Assembled and waiting on you, boss," she nodded. After a moment, she looked over and added, "I think his return is a good development. Now we have an ally against your father's…stubbornness."

"His narrow-minded bigotry, you mean?"

"Your words, sir, not mine."

Before I could answer, the dashboard flashed red. Laila eached over and accepted the call. "Honored Medjay!"

I winced at the stupid title. "Go ahead, Jasmine."

"Sir, _Hyksos_ Nobu wishes to see you."

"Did he say what _for_?"

"A situation has arisen," the girl explained, "Two asari have been caught stealing from the Marketplace."

"So?" I shrugged. "He's the fucking _Hyksos_. Deal with it."

"They only speak Thessian, sir."

I groaned, reaching up to rub my temples with my left hand.

"And _Nobu_ is still hung up on that Extra-Net rumor about the translators?" I took a deep breath. "Please tell him that there are _NO SPIRITS_ involved in the translation process. _Just simple tech_ and programming."

"I have, sir."

"And?"

"He sent me to get you."

"Oh, for _fuck's_ sake…" I cut off the rest of the cursing I _wanted_ to vent, especially right _after_ I dropped my brother off. As Haty-a of the AKs, I could have technically passed the buck off to him. "Where is Nobu right now? The Black Pyramid?"

"No, sir," Jasmine answered, "He's in the Markets, at Pillars and Paragons."

 _Well, at least we're close_. I would have been _seriously_ annoyed if we had to turn around and go _all_ the way to the Black Pyramid.

"Fine," I groaned. "Tell him we're on our way."

"Stealing from a bakery," Laila stated grimly. "That means more than likely they're going hungry."

"I know," I agreed. "But if we gave everyone a pass just because they were hungry…"

"We'd be out of food in within the next shift," Laila nodded. "And there would _still_ be hungry people on this station."

The first indication that we were in the right place was the giant crowd fast assembling in the street. The crowd parted to let us through, in part due to the claxon that was sounding, and also the giant Blood Arrows logo on the side of the truck. The scene was… pretty much exactly what I expected: two asari girls kneeling in the street, with AKs gathered around them.

Based on the black eye on one of them and the bloody nose on the other, they hadn't gone down without a fight. But by now they were both wearing Slave-Yokes, with the built-in biotic suppressors flaring every time one of the AK's landed a kick or a rifle butt on the flailing figures.

"Just let me explain!" one of the girls was yelling in Thessian, and _gods_ she sounded young. "If you'll just…"

"CEASE!" Nobu's booming voice shouted down at her. "Not another word of your heathen tongue, whore! Speak the language of the gods, or be silent!"

"Oh, _fuck me_ ," I muttered underneath my breath, and then shouted, "Nobu! For the love of Bast, man, are you trying to frighten these two to death?"

The giant of a man spun around, his hand going to his chest and forehead in the Arrow salute.

"Worthy Medjay," he greeted with a grave expression on his face, "thank you for coming."

"I was nearby," I waved the rest of his profuse thanks aside. "For gods' sake, let's get the road cleared. I'll deal with these two inside, you get this circus off the street!"

"Your will, Medjay."

Given a task and an order, two of the Arrows of Knesset dragged the two asari girls back inside the bakery, while the rest of them waved on the already-dispersing crowd.

"Go about your lives, everybody," I heard Laila call out. "Show's over."

"Worthy Medjay," Urfa ul Habbas bobbed her head in respect as I entered the building. "A thousand apologies for intruding upon your time. Had I known that the Lord Nobu would disturb you…"

"Peace, good mother," I answered her, switching to Batarian for a moment. "It is not your fault."

The woman beamed a sharp-toothed smile. "My lord's command of this one's tongue has much improved."

"I have had a good teacher," I stated, looking sideways at Laila and winking. "Can we get chairs?"

"Of course, Worthy Medjay." Two folding chairs were brought in by two of her servants, and planted in front of the two asari who had been unceremoniously dumped on the floor.

"Right," I said, seizing one by the shoulder, and pulling her toward the chair. "Take a seat, you two." Laila and I helped them both into a seated position, after which I walked around and squatted in front of them. Urfa on the other hand, stood behind the counter with her arms crossed, looking for all the world like a disappointed grandmother scolding a child.

"Now, first things first," I stated, "Names?"

The two of them were panting hard from the struggle earlier, but looked relieved that they were finally talking to somebody who spoke Thessian.

"Hadasi T'Joran, sir," the one on the left answered, "This is my sister Drella."

"Ok, Hadasi, obvious question, _why_ were you stealing from the bakery?" I asked, already knowing the answer, but wanting to hear it from her.

"We… we haven't eaten in four days, sir," Hadasi admitted. "We were just looking for something to get us through the morning."

Laila's head snapped over to me, and I nodded. Nobody on Omega used the term 'days' or 'morning'. That meant…

"Where are you two from?" I asked. "Your accent isn't Thessian, or Ilium."

Hadasi's eyes widened, but only for a moment. "Originally from Cyone," she said, and then _something_ of the cockiness all young asari seemed to have in spades came into her smile. "We've spent the last few centuries doing odd mercenary jobs in Nepos, the Citadel, and other…"

"Varrenshit."

Her breath caught in her throat at my exclamation. I reached over and rubbed a hand over Drella's head, watching as the asari crest-spines bent underneath the gentle pressure I applied, before snapping back to their original position.

"Your sister's crest tells me that she hasn't even seen her _first century_ ," I stated, looking back at a shocked Hadasi. "And I'm gonna guess you're not much older. Also, 'Hadasi and Drella T'Joran'? Seriously?! Even out here in the Terminus, people have watched ' _Maidens and Matriarchs_.' If you're gonna come up with aliases, don't rip off the _most_ popular Asari Holo-net show."

The two of them looked abashed, with Drella looking nothing short of terrified.

"Allow me a guess," Laila cut in, walking around to kneel down just in front of the two. "You two are running away from home for the first time, probably due to troubles with the family at home. Thought you'd come out to _Omega_ and start your awesome careers as mercenaries and criminal masterminds on the most spirits-forsaken, yet oh-so-romanticized places in the galaxy. Sound about right?"

Hadasi said nothing, but Drella nodded wordlessly.

"Lie to me again," I continued, "and I'm walking out that door, and you can take your chances with Nobu."

Both of the maidens gulped and nodded.

"Now, how _old_ are you two?"

"One hundred and eight," Hadasi answered.

Drella needed a moment, then mumbled, "Seventy-eight."

"Right, so… Hadasi and Drella, because I have no desire or need to know your real names, you have a couple of options here," I stated slowly. "One: the punishment for theft in Little Egypt is either the loss of a hand, _or_ indentured servitude for six months."

The looks on the sisters' faces showed they weren't terribly excited about that idea.

"Option two: you work off the price of the stolen goods back to Urfa here, and then I put both of you on the first barge back up to Afterlife. From there you can get a ride back home, or a job in one of the clubs up there."

The looks grew less horrified, and more thoughtful.

"Option three: I pay your debt, and the two of you come work for me, with a little taken out of your wages to pay me back. It'll be hard but honest work, and you'll get some practical experience under your belts. More to the point, you won't have to steal to eat anymore."

" _Khen,_ " hissed Laila. "They are _children_."

"Children on Omega," I clarified, "You grow up fast, or you don't grow up at all."

"Wh-what kind of work are you talking about?" Drella asked. "I… we didn't really _want_ to work as… in a club, I mean… if we could help it."

"I have no intention of being your _pimp_ ," I stated, more to Laila than to the girls. "You'll work on scavenging, building, and repairing armor and weapons for my group. No fighting or whoring required, but like I said: hard and honest work, for an honest and fair wage."

The two shared a look, and then Drella nodded. "I think we'll take option three," Hadasi stated.

"Excellent," I grinned. "Urfa, how much do they owe you for the stolen bread?"

"One hundred credits, Worthy Medjay."

I winced and put a hand on my chest. " _Are you kidding me_? Look at these two scrawny kids! They couldn't _possibly_ have eaten more than twenty-credits worth of bread between them!"

And so the haggling began…

* * *

 **Broken Vessel**

 _(Laila Adonis)_

 **Location: The Warrens, Doru District, Omega Station.**

I had to admit, even after all this time, it was still a little strange for me to be sitting in the same building where I had once been a slave.

The Desert Sands had long since been converted from a casino to the Armory, which is what most of the Arrows and locals now called it. With the high turnover of the neighborhoods on Omega, there were probably very few here now who _remembered_ when it had been a casino. With Nobu still running the Arrows of Knesset out of the Black Pyramid, Khentu had felt the need for his own space for our little… squad… group, _spirits_ , it was almost a little gang unto itself, if Khen wanted to be a little more ambitious.

Lydia Chang and most of the former Cavern Dogs group had gone with him to garrison the Armory, and others had been recruited directly from the mostly-batarian neighborhood. So it was quite the diverse group that had gathered in the main barracks, where once the gambling tables and quasar slots had been housed.

We had dropped off our two newest workers with our quarian quartermaster, the combination of those two words always making Khentu grin like an idiot. Now we had made our way to the main mess hall, where everyone else was already waiting on us.

Wasilla T'Maza leaned back on top of one of the tables, surrounded by her latest group of admirers, mostly young and hormonal teens who didn't know any better. By contrast, Quintus Agrippa looked like he was back in the army, every inch of his armor polished and sanded smooth. It was interesting to see how he had changed the way he had treated me after I got my facial tattoos. It was like he had then seen me as a _person_ for the first time, to the point that we had actually gone on a couple of dates.

Nothing serious had come of it, besides a few very pleasurable nights, and in typical turian stoicism, we still worked in close proximity together like nothing had ever happened between us.

JJ, Flint and Kruk sat in the corner playing a round of cards, the large drell almost comically dwarfing the two batarians. The pile of credits in front of Flint, however, was enough to show that size mattered very little in this scenario.

"Right, so!" Khentu shouted, and the hum of conversation died down, "This is our first meeting with Soji gone. As most of you know, he's gone to live with his brother out in the country."

"Last time somebody told me that, boss," someone yelled from the back of the room, "I never saw my hamster again."

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," Khentu waved dismissively, but I could tell the real source of his annoyance had probably been that he hadn't thought of that pun first. "Lydia, you said you have somebody for us?"

The Chinese woman stood to her feet, her hair recently dyed to a brilliant purple hue. Beside her was a younger human male, only _just_ beginning to grow hair on his face, it looked.

"Osman El Sadat is a local kid, grown up his whole life in Little Egypt," she stated, placing a hand on his shoulders. "I'm willing to vouch for his fighting abilities. He's young, sure, but he's got a good head on his shoulders, and willing to learn."

Khentu glanced over at me, and I nodded my approval of her choice. While veterans were appreciated, they usually had developed their own particular way of doing things, and often struggled with adapting to squad tactics, after being solo for so long. Sure the kid was young, but that also meant he hadn't had time to develop any bad habits for Quintus to beat out of him.

"You have any armor or weapons of your own?" Khentu asked. The kid cleared his throat, and placed a well-worn, but well-kept weapon on the table.

"I've got my dad's old Chakram, _Medjay_ ," he stated. "He taught me how to take it apart and clean it, a-a-and I've done plenty of target practice. K-k-killed some vorcha during the Attack with it, too."

Khentu nodded, but his brows furrowed.

"Your old man know you're signing up for this?"

"Dead," Osman answered, "From EZ-fever, eight weeks ago. It's just me and my sisters at home now."

Khentu nodded, and then passed the rifle to Agrippa, who looked it over, pulled the charging handle, and then handed it back to Khentu with a nod of his own.

"How are you set for armor?" When the kid just shook his head, he added, "Go see Rimo in the vault after you're done here. He'll get you kitted out in whatever we have to spare. Won't be great, but better than nothing. You'll be responsible for scavenging any upgrades for yourself."

"As well as keeping your equipment and gear in order," Agrippa added. "Or you'll answer to me."

"All in favor?" Khentu asked. A chorus of 'Ayes' ran around the room, and he stuck out his hand.

"Welcome to the team, Osman."

"T-th-thank you, Medjay," the kid stammered, beaming from ear to ear.

Khentu looked over at Lydia. "Get the kid equipped. Agrippa, put him through his paces, see what he's made of. Waz, I'm putting the kid on _your_ squad, and Elliot is moving to Jesse's."

" _Tasty_ ," Wasilla nodded, looking the young boy up and down.

"Good luck, kid: don't let her rape you," I chuckled as I followed Khen out of the room, enjoying both slightly horrified look on the kid's face, and the laughs and jeers the rest of the room sent his way.

* * *

 **Chosen Heir**

 _(Ptolemy Emrys)_

 **Location: The Golden Pyramid, Doru District, Omega Station**

"And that's pretty much the situation," I explained, stepping back from the holo-table displaying a map of the Terminus Systems. "The last big offensive on Zadith Ban is expected to begin soon, if it hasn't happened already."

"Oursourcing offensives to the highest bidder," Abdul nodded thoughtfully. "She's clever… oh, yes, oh so clever is our Queen. This war has been a nearer thing than Aria is comfortable with, and with Eclipse flexing their power, and Xentha gobbling up more and more territory, she'll be looking to expand both her influence and her powerbase."

"Which is why this station is being run less and less like a city," Father stated, "And more and more like a military fortress. But with that comes more opportunities, which I mean for the Arrows to profit by."

A bell rang faintly in the distance, and Father glanced down at the table.

"And that is the call to the Late Meal, my children," he continued. "You are all of course, invited, to share our joy in welcoming my firstborn home safely. To welcome _all_ of our heroes home safely, thanks be to Amun-Ra and the gods."

Bomazi bowed in acknowledgement of the compliment as the rest of the room clapped once to show their thanks to the gods. I shook hands with the principle leaders there: Quan Zhang, the new leader of the Jackals, Abdul, who gave me as big of a hug as he could manage, and lastly Bomazi, who gave me a longer stare than I was comfortable with.

"My daughter tells me… _many excellent things_ , about your leadership, _Haty-a_ ," he said with a knowing smile.

"Your daughter is a warrior without peer, _Haty-a_ ," I replied, avoiding any other discussion of our relationship. "I know of no others for whom I have more respect."

Bomazi bowed his head slightly and then gave me a wink before leaving the room, leaving only Father and I together for the first time since I had arrived. My welcome had been warm enough, in front of guests and the other leaders of Little Egypt. Now, Father had pulled up a map of Doru, gazing at it intently.

"Your brother could not attend your triumph," he stated matter-of-factly, but layering a dozen questions into the simple sentence.

I sighed and braced myself for the coming conversation. "He seemed to think that he would be unwelcome, Father. Was he correct?"

"He resents your successes, and my own," Father snorted, not answering the question directly. "You have heard that he is assembling _alien_ allies and recruiting from their ranks?"

"I have heard that there is a bakery in Little Egypt," I answered tactfully, and in such a way that I gave only the facts as they stood, "And that a qualified mechanic is repairing our armor and weapons now."

After a _year_ abroad, I had almost gotten out of practice of these careful conversations my father and I always had. From beginning to end, he would try to entrap me in logic or strategy puzzles, and then deliver a lecture about how I got caught, and what to do in the future. Those lectures came less and less frequently now, but I opted to shorten the conversation and stab right at the heart of the issue.

"Khentu has done everything we've ever asked of him, Father," I said as I moved to stand next to the _Pharaoh_ of the Blood Arrows. "We have stood shoulder to shoulder at your back and by your side in all things."

"Do not mistake his responsibilities to this family for _love_ ," Father hissed. "He does what he needs to, he goes through the motions, because that is what is _expected_ of him. But in his heart of hearts, he loathes and despises us."

I blinked slowly, reeling at what I was hearing. "What are you talking about…?"

"Oh, Ptolemy," Father sighed, shoulders slumping slightly. "you do not know what it is to be the younger son. You do know what it is to be _passed over_ , to be _ignored_. The hatred that seethes in the heart, like a writhing serpent in your bosom, until at last it rears its poisoned fangs…"

"Are we still speaking of Khentu Emrys…" I asked slowly, "…or Mentu?"

Father moved to sit in the large chair in the corner, dropping his head into hands. I walked slowly towards him, trying to process this rare moment of absolute honesty from my Father.

"If that is what you think…" I stated in wonder, trying to frame my own thoughts in my head, "if that is how _you felt_ growing up with Uncle Nasser… why would you treat him like that? If you hated being ignored and passed over, then why would you ignore and pass over your youngest son?"

"For your mother."

Now I felt all my bewilderment turn to cold, hard anger. He _never_ spoke of her. Not since she had died. He _certainly_ hadn't honored her memory, taking up with whores like Hatshepsut, or the dozen others that came before her.

"Khentu was… my shame," Father continued after a moment. "My… moment of weakness."

I did my best to hold back a scoff. Monogamy was _never_ my father's strongpoint, so to call bedding a whore on Afterlife a 'moment of weakness' was the highest order of understatement.

"But when his mother died, and I became aware of his existence…" Father sighed, "he was my responsibility. But your mother and I… were never the same after that."

"I _remember_." The words were angrier than I had intended, and much colder and calmer than I wanted. Yeah, your husband showing up with the bastard child of a whore he had cheated on you with _did tend_ to cause marital strain. "You don't need to explain _that_ to me, or _why_."

"Your mother was jealous for you," father continued, as if he hadn't heard me. "She feared your inheritance would be divided amongst bastards. So, for her sake… I ignored him. For her sake, you received the best of everything. And in that moment, I knew my worst fears had been realized: that I had become my father, and I had created another _me_."

Father placed his hands over his face again. I had never heard the words, "I," "was," and "wrong" come out of my father's mouth in that order, but this was certainly the closest he had ever come to uttering them.

"But the fact remains that Khentu and I are not you and Uncle, Father," I answered at last. "Through all that has transpired, Khentu still loves you… still loves us."

"If you truly believe that, boy," Mentu Emrys shook his head, "Then you are a fool, and I am a failure as a father."

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **So the second act of this story begins, two years later. Quite a lot has changed, and at the same time, nothing at all is different.  
**

 **If you're following along with Katkiller-V's story, "Another Realm: Einherjar," this is the same day that Cieran Kean and the Blades go to rescue Joa from the Blood Pack (Chapter 22: Sins of the Daughter). **

**Thanks to everyone for your kind words for Act 1, and I hope you'll enjoy this act just as much or more!**

 **As always, my thanks to Katkiller-V for being an awesome Beta-Reader/editor. Please leave your thoughts/suggestions/constructive criticisms in the review section below! Your opinions and feedback are always welcome. **

**ROCK ON, my friends! EE-RAH!**

 **-Tusken1602**


	12. Act 2: Calling a Mob

**Chosen Heir**

 _(Ptolemy Emrys)_

 **Date: 5-27-2184**

 **Location: Black Pyramid, Little Egypt, Doru District**

* * *

The various _Hyksos_ of the Arrows of Knesset began to depart our meeting, the first one I had presided over in over a year. I had gathered them together to hear their various reports, and to gauge where we were as a gang. Overall, things were better than they were when Father ran the AKs, and largely because of Khentu's pressuring Nobu to allow aliens into Little Egypt.

The giant hadn't been happy about that last, but both Auntie's bordello and Jordan Powell's 'salvage yard' had profited greatly from bringing in outside help, both from the sheer number of hands willing to work in Little Egypt, and the influx of qualified professionals to help _manage_ it all. Making Auntie, Powell and several the other hitherto-independent business owners fully-fledged members of the gang had been a move of genius on Khentu's part, I had to admit. Rather than gripe at the protection money they had to pay us, as before, they were now fully invested in the gang's survival and growth. Powell's people were now doing boosting-jobs of their own, and Auntie now had muscle of her own to enforce the peace at the Sands of Time brothel.

" _Haty-a_." Nobu's giant-yet-gentle hand on my shoulder brought me back to the present. I had to confess, I still was still looking for my father every time someone called me that. I hadn't had the position more than a few months before I had shipped out with the Egyptian Volunteers, and during our deployment, I had insisted everyone call me 'Captain' rather than using my proto-Egyptian title. It had made our interactions and coordinating with Aria's forces more seamless.

"Yes, Nobu?" I answered, sighing. "More bellyaches to soothe and hands to hold?"

The seemingly-endless problems brought to the attention of the _Haty-a_ of the Blood Arrows for judgement usually fell into one of two categories: either someone didn't have enough of something, or felt that their neighbor had too much of it.

"There are _always_ petitioners awaiting your adjudication," Nobu chuckled from experience. During my absence, it would have been _him_ attending to the long line of people in the Black Pyramid. "But first, _Hyksos_ Isola Makwetu of the Pit Vipers wishes a moment of your time."

I felt a flush come over my cheeks when Nobu said her name.

"Show her in," I managed without sounding like a hormonal teenager. But the giant's knowing grin as he left the room led me to suspect that he hadn't been fooled.

Isola – Daughter of Bomazi, Leader of the Pit Viper gang. She and the Pit Viper section of the Volunteers had been miffed at first when I insisted that they _wear armor_ and _not_ throw their lives away trying to close the distance with spears and swords, but eventually had appreciated my attempts to keep them alive for as long as possible. Eventually, our mutual respect for one another's fighting prowess had grown and blossomed into something… greater. But whether or not that would continue here, away from the battlefield remained to be seen. I hadn't had time to inquire whether the kiss at the docks had meant 'See you later' or 'Goodbye, it's over.'

That question, however, was quickly answered when the tall, dark-skinned woman came in and before we could even exchange the customary salutations, grabbed me by the shoulders and kissed me, hard and deeply.

"Just wanted to make sure you hadn't forgotten me, _nkwenkwe,_ " she murmured softly as our foreheads touched.

"I was worried about the same thing," I grinned. "How have things been for you since we've been back?"

"It is strange," she admitted, taking a seat beside me. "You don't realize how small our little world was until you return to it. I remember thinking of Little Egypt as vast kingdom."

"A world unto itself," I agreed with her.

"Exactly. Now that we've been _to other worlds_ … and come back home…"

"It all seems very insignificant, no?" I grinned.

"And not just that… just so _petty_ ," she nodded. " _Baba_ was all worked up last night about a restaurant that had been taken over by the Consortium. A single building lost, and it was like some great defeat, or irreversible setback."

"I know what you mean," I replied, "Coffee?"

"Do you think she intended that to happen?" Isola asked, nodding affirmative as I moved to refill the pot. "Aria: do you think she _meant_ to expose the little small-time gangsters to the larger galaxy? Show them the folly of quarreling over yards of _turf?_ "

"I think she needed more bodies to throw into this war," I shrugged, handing her a mug. "But do I think the possibility of that outcome escaped her notice? No. Not sure why she'd care, but she definitely knew."

"So… what do we do now?" she asked. "Be content to rule our little turf? Run away together and leave this _indlu yokuhlala_ behind us?"

"Well, I was more thinking that you and I get married," I replied. "And when your father hands the Pit Vipers over to you or, Ra forfend, departs with Anubis for the Afterlife, you and I formally incorporate our two gangs together, rather than the affiliated alliance we have now."

Isola's eyebrows went up, and she set her mug down beside her.

"Truly you are a silver-tongued devil, _Haty-a_ ," she teased, "It's a wonder all the girls don't swoon away, with you making a marriage proposal sound like a corporate business merger."

I leaned over and kissed her again, longer and more deeply this time, hearing her moan appreciatively as my hands snaked around her waist and under her leather coat.

 _"That_ convince you that this is more than business?" I asked.

"It's a start," she murmured. "What would we call this… merger you propose? The Vipers of Knesset?"

"I like that better than _Pit_ Arrows," I chuckled, and she joined in.

"And you would _obviously_ be content with serving as _my second_ , and let me lead?" Isola asked with that mischievous gleam in her eye as my hands gripped her hips tight, pulling her more closely towards me.

"I will be _Pharaoh_ of the Arrows one day," I stated, my tone lowering to growling whisper, _"On that day_ , you can lead the Vipers of Knesset, but not before, _Alhabib_."

Isola moaned as she suddenly wrapped her legs around me, grinning as her hands move down to cover my ass, groping appreciatively.

" _I like it_ when you take command… _my Pharaoh_ ," she rumbled, the sound a hungry predator.

"Is that a 'Yes'?" I asked, eliciting a breathless moan as my hands moved to reciprocate.

"It's… not a 'No'," she growled, "Now take off your clothes and take me on this table before I change my mind."

I smiled, leaned back to do exactly that… And then darkness shrouded my vision. As it cleared, slowly, I could hear voices, sounding like they were coming from far away, or perhaps like I was underwater. Blurred shapes snapped into focus, revealing the worried faces of Nobu and Isola. A cool hand cupped my cheek, and a glass of water was held to my lips.

"Again?" I asked, and Isola's slight nod confirmed the gnawing pit in my stomach: my seizures had returned. "How long?"

"Six hours, _Haty-a_ ," Nobu answered gravely. "I have sent the petitioners home, under the pretense that you and the lady were… _occupied_ with other matters."

I felt my fists clench and my teeth grind. Passed out for six hours, helpless as a newborn babe. There was no twinge of warning, no spasms to muscle through or fight. There was only consciousness one minute and the black void the next. How Isola had managed to keep them a secret from our men during our deployment, I did not know.

"My father," I stated slowly. "Nobu… my father is not to know. Nor my brother. Not a word."

Nobu brought his hand to his chest and the back of his head.

"Your will, _Haty-a_. Your secret is safe with me."

Then he turned and left the room, closing the door behind him. I took Isola's hand and got back up to my feet.

"I had hoped they were a result of straining my biotics on Altakiril," I sighed.

"That is the most likely cause of this affliction," Isola answered quickly, kneeling down in front of me, strong callused hands on my cheeks, turning my head to look in each of my eyes. I tried to smile at the gentle concern in the eyes that burned so bright for battle.

"Isola…" I stated gently.

"No."

"Isola," I continued, putting iron in the name. "The battle has been over now more than six months, and I haven't lifted so much as a thimble with my biotics since. This is… something else."

"There are medics on this station," Isola insisted. "We can visit them. They can-"

"And how do we ensure that news of my…. w _eakness_ ," the word was a spat curse on my lips, "does not make its way to the ears of my father? Or the ears of our enemies, for that matter?"

She pulled me into a tight embrace.

"We will find a way, my love," she replied, and there was absolute certainty in her words; certainty from which I gleaned strength. "We will find a way."

* * *

 **Omega's Child**

 _(Khentu Emrys)_

 **Location: Eclipse Compound, Doru District, Omega**

"Spirits, it would be quicker to make a list of which gangs are _not here_."

I looked around at Laila's comment. The room was full of delegates from about a half-dozen gangs on Doru: the White Tigers, Brotherhood, Eight-Zero Demons and Targa Horde were the most obvious. The rest were small-time thugs and several freelancers that I didn't recognize. We'd been kept waiting for the better part of an hour, mostly for Eclipse to remind the gangs that they _could make us all wait._

 _Stuck-up bitches._

"There's enough bad feeling and blood-feuds in this room to start another war in the Terminus," I stated aloud, watching a tall asari, Areli Sukkoth of the Targa Horde, stare down Ewart of the Eight-Zero Demons, the two rivals' hands absent-mindedly straying towards empty holsters and scabbards. The Eclipse had disarmed all the delegates, wisely counting on more than just their reputation to keep fights from breaking out in their enclave.

The door opened and a red salarian walked in, his face covered in white colony markings.

"EVERYONE SHUT THE FUCK UP." Surprisingly for his relatively-small size, Jaroth's voice rose high above the din of conversation. The fact that everyone actually _did_ shut the fuck up probably said a lot of the respect the salarian had earned during his time on Omega, even if he was a monumental asshole about it.

"Finally, some answers," I muttered as Laila and I slunk back down in our seats.

"You're here for one purpose, and one purpose only," Jaroth stated after a moment, and clicked a button on the central table. A shaky, blurry image of a turian in blue armor appeared. "Archangel."

A round of groans went up around the table. All the gangs had, directly or indirectly, been affected by this asshole. He had shown up on Omega almost a full year ago, and had apparently been leading his own private war on… well, damn near _everybody_ on the station. As to who he was or why he was doing it, the rumor mill of Omega had generated everything from a Council Spectre to a jaded lover of Aria's… or perhaps both.

"This _fucker_ has finally pissed off enough of the wrong people," Jaroth stated. "A few days ago, he hit the Talons. The day before that, the Wave swore he was the one behind the raid down on the Kima slave-pens. And yesterday, he hit the Morays on Gozu."

"He really gets around," Laila murmured next to me. "You have to admit, it's impressive."

"They're calling a Mob on him," I replied. When she gave me her inquiring look, I continued, "Jaroth is basically declaring open season on Archangel."

"So, here's the job," Jaroth stated. "Go after Archangel, hunt Archangel, find Archangel. When you've done all of that, you radio in to us, and WE. KILL. ARCHANGEL. Anybody gets smart and tries to pass off the first turian corpse they find as him, or try to get the glory of taking him down themselves will suffer horrors far beyond their tiny little imaginations."

"Why?"

All heads turned towards me.

"I mean, I don't like this asshole any more than you guys, but that doesn't mean I'm willing to send my people down to the Lowers to hunt him," I stated evenly. "What is it exactly that you're offering in return?"

Jaroth's eyes narrowed, and pressed another button on the table. A murmur ran through the room at the sheer _number_ of zeros that appeared on the screen. "Any more questions?"

I winced as Laila kicked me under the table, and took the less-than-subtle hint to shut up.

"Vitt dat much moneys on him head, every _bekwa_ and _brumby_ on dis station gonna mob after heem," Morgan Waters, a gangster with more dreadlocks than sense, chuckled. "What about _verdoem_ Gozu-Boys or True-Son _bliksems_? Dey gonna try stop us, we'en movant in on deem terr'try."

"If they're smart, they'll stand aside, or better yet, join us in hunting down this fucker," Jaroth answered. "But that said, as long as this fucker ends up dead, I'm not gonna complain about the body count. That all? Good, fuck off."

The salarian deactivated the table, spun on a heel, and left the room. Everyone present got a _ping_ from their Omni-Tool, with the exact address to call if/when they found Archangel. The buzz of conversation began again as we collected our stuff and left, this time with excited murmurs and loose plans being made.

"So we going after this guy?" Laila asked.

"Looks like it," I nodded, "I'll ask for volunteers at the Late Meal."

Laila sighed and shook her head. "You're the _Medjay_ , Khen," she chided, mandibles flaring in irritation. "You _are allowed_ to give an order, every now and then."

"I'm not taking people down to the Lower Levels who don't _want to be there_ ," I countered. "If you don't know the area, it's a deathtrap. And if you _do_ know the area, then you _know_ it's a deathtrap."

Laila nudged me mid-rant and pointed with her chin at a group in black and red armor. I followed her gaze and nodded.

"Hey, Dexidos!" The Talons lieutenant turned at hearing his name, and waited for us to catch up to him.

"Emrys, Adonis," he greeted nonchalantly, resuming his walk back towards his own territory.

"So what are the Talons doing here?" I asked, "I thought you guy usually _encouraged_ vigilante types? You know, 'Good of the people,' and all that?"

"We did, and we extended our hand to Archangel as well," Kenlar Dexidos nodded. "Anybody who wants to take on the Kima- and Gozu-level trash is fine by us."

"So what the fuck happened?" Laila asked. "He turn on you?"

The big turian shook his head. "No, nothing so blatant: He just… turned us down flat. Then hit us four times in as many weeks. Targeted our sand distribution and warehouses."

" _Shtako_ thinks he's still on Palavan," Laila muttered, her mandibles working in an inscrutable turian expression.

"So it would seem," The Talon shrugged. "Anyway, it was enough for Red to finally agree to work with Jaroth in calling a Mob on him. You thinking about joining up?"

"Not right away," I shook my head. "Waters and the rest of the gutter trash are gonna take the first lift down, and start shooting every turian in the place. They are firm believers in the old adage, 'in the multitude of bullets, there is victory.'"

Dexidos and Laila both chuckled at the turian proverb, but then grew thoughtful. "You mean to use them as bait," the Talon nodded. "Send in Varren to flush out the _Pitka_."

"Exactly," I nodded, even though I had no idea what a _Pitka_ was. "If he's the paragon of virtue he seems to think he is, he's not going to sit back while the likes of Waters shoot up the neighborhoods that have been giving him shelter."

"A good plan," nodded Kenlar.

"Yes…" Laila stated coyly, giving me a sideways glance, "It is. But there is another intriguing question?"

"What is that?"

"If he's in Kima one day, and Doru the next, who is _giving_ him these rides up and down Omega? It's not like he can take the lifts."

"Why not?" I shrugged, "What do we know about him except 'turian' and 'sometimes wears blue armor'? the only disguise he needs is to take his helmet off, and he's the same as every other turian on the station. Hells, we might walk past him every day of the week and never know it."

"Wouldn't there be recordings of him, then?" Dexidos asked. "If we can create an algorithm of when the attacks happened, and match it with the…"

"Then why hasn't Jaroth or Red, or anybody else thought of that?" Laila asked. "Why go to all the trouble of calling a Mob on him?"

"Because all the security vids go to Aria's people," I answered. "And she's probably not willing to share."

"An unknown vigilante wreaking havoc on Omega isn't good for anyone," Dexidos countered, "Least of all Aria."

"You think Aria doesn't know who this guy is?" I scoffed. "She doesn't have any reason to help out the Talons or Eclipse stop _one lone_ vigilante, and nobody is going to go crawling to her asking for help _hunting_ one little vigilante, for fear of looking weak."

"He at least has been smart enough to not challenge any of _her_ people," Laila agreed, "At least, not directly."

"So for the time being," I shrugged, "unless he's just a monumental ass-wad, it's in Aria's best interest to keep the gangs at each other's throats, or at the very least, focused on something else."

"Well it was a good thought while it lasted," Dexidos sighed.

"Are you going to be leading the Talon contingent down there?" Laila aked.

"Probably," he nodded. "Why, you thinking of joining forces?"

"I think we stand a better chance together than going at it alone, like all these other assholes will try to do," I nodded. "Tell you what, we'll split the bounty, even shares for every fighter?"

The turian face split into a grin. "Gonna have to run it by the higher-ups, but I'm game."

I extended my arm, clasping hands with the turian in a Palavan-style salute.

"Let's go hunt us an angel," I grinned.

* * *

 **Holy Warrior**

 _(Father Ignatius)_

 **Location: Little Egypt, Doru District, Omega**

 _Ave María, gratia plena,  
Dominus tecum._

The prayer was on my lips as I made my way down the street. If Doru was one of the _nicer_ levels, as the intelligence dossier had indicated, I shuddered to see the rest of the station. The blatant drug use, prostitution, and _murders_ gave me flashbacks: _"This is what happens when you mess with 10th Street Reds!"_

The memory stung, and I gripped the rosary tighter. That part of my life was behind me. I had forsaken it entirely, or so I had thought.

 _"You will be the Sword of the Holy Mother_ , _Ignatius_ : _A lantern in the dark places when all other lights have gone out._ "

That had been the words from the lips of Pope Francis IV, the Holy Father, himself, when he had sent me out from the Holy See. Oddly enough, it was my former life that had given me the qualifications the Holy Father deemed necessary to undertake this mission.

 _Benedicta tu in mulieribus,  
et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Iesus._

And so here I was, walking down the street of the most lawless station in the galaxy. I strode along until I found the location I had sought. The warehouse wasn't large, but what had drawn my attention was the steel shutters at the windows and the obviously-reinforced door. Even a careful examination revealed no obvious gang symbols emblazoned on the door or walls.

 _Sancta Maria, Mater Dei,  
ora pro nobis peccatoribus,  
nunc et in hora mortis nostrae. Amen._

My prayer completed, I strode up to the door and knocked loudly. When there was no answer, I opted to pound on the door relentlessly. There was a stirring inside, and then a slit opened, revealing a four-eyed stare.

"The _kark_ you want, human?"

"My name is Father Ignatius," I said in as calm of a voice as I could muster, "of the Holy Terran Catholic Church. I am here because I am interested in purchasing this building."

All four eyes narrowed, and there was a slight head-tilt to the right.

"What?"

"This building is obviously _very well-maintained_ ," I continued, "I think it will serve my needs well. I'm here to open up an orphanage, you understand."

"The building is not for sale," came the reply, but the confused tone was still in the voice.

"This is Omega, friend," I countered, "Everything is for sale."

There was a sudden noise of a bolt being withdrawn, and there was suddenly a pistol in my face, as the batarian and four of his friends exited the door. I walked backwards slowly, holding my hands out, mostly to show that I was unarmed.

"You must have a problem with your hearing, old man," the leader spoke again, and there was a sneer on his lips. "I said, the building is not for sale."

"You haven't even heard my offer," I stated slowly, the subconscious part of my brain telling me that the first batarian was the only one with a firearm. Two of the others gripped double-bladed batarian knives, and the other two held crude clubs made from rusty pipes, with cloth wrapped around them for handles. "I can give you a very good price."

The pistol pressed into the center of my forehead now.

"If you're rich enough to buy," the first batarian said with a sharp-toothed grin, "You're rich enough to rob…"

"Gentlemen, please," I reiterated, "I'm a _priest_ : I have sworn before God and the Blessed Virgin to not take another life."

In that moment, Michael, Gabriel, Raphael, and Uriel landed behind each of the other batarians from where I had left them on stand-by mode on the roof. All four eyes of the ringleader widened at the sight of the _Seraphim_ –class battle-mechs, and I took that moment to bring my hands up, feeling muscle-memory disarm him with one fluid movement.

"My mechs, on the other hand, have made no such vow," I stated as I stepped back, disassembling the _Titan_ pistol into harmless components. "What is your name?"

The batarian slowly went to a knee, as did the other batarians, after dropping their weapons.

"Ruchi," he said slowly, the cocky, arrogant demeanor gone now. "Ruchi ul Jacana."

"I will reiterate my original question, Master Ruchi," I said, keeping my tone friendly. "How much for the building?"

"T-t-take it!" one of the other batarians stammered. "Please! It's yours!" I turned towards him and looked back at Ruchi, who simply nodded.

"You misunderstand," I insisted. "This is not a takeover. I wish for the two of us to conduct a business transaction that will leave both parties satisfied. I am not looking to begin a feud with you or your people. At what price do you value this building, my friend?"

I gestured towards the four elite mechs.

"I urge you to consider fairness in your estimation, and to remember the words of your own Pillars of Wisdom."

Ruchi looked at the mechs, looked at the building, and then back to me.

"Ei-eight thousand credits," he stated slowly.

I brought up my Omni-Tool, and established a link with his own.

"Here is _ten_ thousand credits," I stated calmly. "Now, can you tell me what gang runs this sector of the station?"

The batarian stared at his wrist with a dumbfounded expression.

"They-they're called the Blood Arrows," he stammered, still trying to make sense of this situation, "They're a human gang."

"Thank you very much for your business, my son," I stated, making the sign of the cross above him. " _Pax vobiscum_ : Peace be with you."

I turned and strode into the building, followed by the four mechs, leaving the confused and bewildered batarians behind.

* * *

 **Author's Note: A couple of revelations, both good and bad. Ptolemy is not the indestructible older brother as he would have his family think he is, Khentu and Laila are preparing to hunt down a very good friend of ours, and a new face from Earth has arrived on Omega...**

 **As always, my thanks to Katkiller-V for being an awesome Beta-Reader/editor. Please leave your thoughts/suggestions/constructive criticisms in the review section below! Your opinions and feedback are always welcome.**

 **ROCK ON, my friends!**

 **-Tusken1602**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

Draco Oblivion: There's a fine line between trying to prevent a future event, and causing it to happen. And yes, Abdul finding out the truth about Nasser's death would most definitely be up there in the "worst-case scenarios."

BJ Hanssen: Those who are treacherous and mean themselves, always suspect treachery and meanness in others.

seabo76: Khentu is not a terribly complicated individual. That is both his strength and his weakness.

EE-RAH!


	13. Act 2: Angelic Ambush

**Holy Warrior  
** _(Father Ignatius)_

 **Date: 6-15-2184**

 **Location: Little Egypt, Doru District, Omega**

"Be brave, my jewel."

My heart ached as I took in the scene unfolding in front of me. The asari maiden was kneeling down, leaving her daughter to a total stranger. But she had limited options: through a series of unfortunate choices and events, she was bound in a contract of indentured servitude for a year.

'Indentured servitude.' It was the politest term I had ever heard of for 'slavery.' I could do nothing to alleviate her situation, but I had offered the newly-opened Orphanage of St. Dismas to her daughter, who was still clinging to her as she looked back up at me.

"I'll come by to visit, every chance I get," she said with forced cheer. We both knew that was code for 'probably never,' but I nodded at her veiled message that she would be aware of where her daughter was, and how she was being treated.

"You will be more than welcome," I answered, smiling as I stepped forward and placed a gentle hand the daughter's shoulder. "I swear by the Holy Mother, I will guard her with my life. She will come to no harm, so long as there is breath left in my body."

She nodded, once, tears brimming in her eyes. Then she turned suddenly, and left the small courtyard without looking back. Uriel and Raphael closed the gate behind her. I knelt down beside the little asari girl, who was trying so bravely not to cry.

"Now, shall we go inside, little one?" I asked. "Do you have a bag?"

She nodded wordlessly, gripping her meagre parcel tightly in her arms.

"I know this is frightening," I reassured, placing both hands on her shoulders. "But you are _safe_ here; I promise. Now, your name is Tiana, correct?"

She nodded.

"My name is Ignatius," I stated, placing a hand on my chest. For the first time she had arrived, a ghost of a smile appeared on the girl's face.

"That's alright," I winked. "You can laugh; it is a funny name, isn't it?"

A tiny giggle escaped her.

"I wasn't born with it," I explained, "But when I came to the church, I was _given_ a new name. Everyone gets new names when they arrive here, you see. It's just a way to start somewhere new, with a blank slate."

"Will… will I get a new name?" she asked, speaking for the first time.

"If you like," I nodded. "How do you like the name… Tatiana? Saint Tatiana is the patron saint of students, you know."

"S' pretty," she nodded.

"She lived long ago, in a land called Rome," I went on, standing up and extending my hand. "Perhaps later, I'll tell you the whole story. Would you like that?"

She looked down at my hand, and then took it in her own.

"I like stories," she answered.

"FATHER!" A young turian boy, naked from the waist up, rushed out the door of the main building. He paused, distracted by the newcomer.

"Barnabas, this is Tatiana. She will be joining us, here. Tatiana, this is Barnabas," I introduced, winking at the young asari. "That's not his real name either," I whispered theatrically, earning another giggle.

"Hello," Barnabas nodded, then seemed to remember the reason for his haste. "Father, there's… someone coming. With guns."

Tatiana gasped, the joy of a moment ago replaced with wide-eyed fear.

 _So_ , I thought silently, _It's finally that time._

"Not to worry, Tatiana," I said aloud. "God and the saints are on our side."

"And… and…" The boy shook his head, "How many guns do they have?"

I smiled at the innocent question from a child who more than likely had no idea what 'gods' or 'saints' were.

"Barnabas," I continued, "Show Tatiana her new bunk, won't you? And then make sure she gets something to eat."

The turian gestured the asari girl inside, closing the door behind them.

" _Ave, Maria_."

The two _Seraphim_ mechs bolted to attention, the keyphrase resetting them to "Standby" mode.

" _Invigile."_ I ordered, setting them to 'Guard' mode. If this went sideways, there were five children here that needed to be protected at all cost. I double-checked the shield generator on my belt and the redundant power core at my back before stepping beyond the relative safety of the courtyard.

The small group of gang members paused when they saw me exiting, and a few nervous hands went towards weapons. They were dressed in varying quality of armor, but were more or less uniformly kept. Another common characteristic was the large red and white arrow that adorned their shoulder pieces and helmets. A tall human in the lead held up a hand, leaving the group behind as he advanced the twenty yards or so still between us.

"You are the priest who drove out the former tenants of this building?" he asked, his voice amplified and deepened by his helmet's speakers.

"I am Father Ignatius, of the Holy Terran Catholic Church," I stated slowly. The word 'Terran' elicited quite the reaction from the main group, while the leader made no response. "I _purchased_ this building from its former occupants."

The leader looked up at the walls, and then up and down the narrow street.

"I don't see your mechs," he said at last.

"I didn't think they were necessary," I answered. "Seeing of course, that I have no quarrel with the Blood Arrows."

The head cocked sideways, and then the stance relaxed, ever-so-slightly.

"I am Ptolemy Emrys," he said, placing a hand on his chest, " _Haty-a_ of the Blood Arrows."

"Impressive title, Mr. Emrys," I nodded. "I'm afraid I'm not sure what it means, but it's... very impressive, nonetheless."

The head cocked slightly again in what I hoped was a smile behind that helmet. Then his gaze moved beyond me to read the newly-painted sign now spanning the large double-gate.

"You're opening an… orphanage?" he asked, somewhat incredulously.

" _Opened_ ," I corrected slightly. "The Lord has already seen fit to send me the first few souls of my little flock."

His right hand twitched involuntarily, my own doing the same before I could help myself. It had been more than eight years since I had carried a gun, and it was still my first instinct to reach for one.

"And what do you intend on _doing to_ those souls," Mr. Emyrs asked, "Priest?"

"Father," I corrected again, "And I intend on doing _nothing_ to them, beyond giving them a home, a meal, and a bed at night. Maybe bring the good word to them's that need it told."

The head jerked now in a thinly-veiled wince.

"That's gonna step on a bunch of toes here," he objected, but his tone was still light and easy-going, "The Sand Jackals have their own religion to preach, and they don't take kindly to alternative points of view."

"Unless… an arrangement can be made?" I ventured.

A hand came up to rest on Emrys' hip, opposite his pistol.

"There's the rub… Father," he stated, almost in a disappointed tone of voice. "The batarians you… _purchased_ the building from were going to open a machine shop here."

"Complete with a portion of the proceeds going to you," I nodded.

"For a Earther, you catch on quick," he nodded approvingly. "So you're getting the quandary I'm in?"

"There is, no doubt, long-term profit to having a home for the homeless waifs and urchins of the district, is there not?" I suggested.

Ptolemy shook his head. "I can't write 'Moral Fortitude' and 'Community Betterment' onto a ledger for my superior to sign off on at the end of a month."

I took a deep breath. Time to see if this _Ptolemy_ was a man of vision or no.

"I _do_ intend on teaching these children a trade," I stated slowly. "Basic electronic repair, simple welding, and the like. We'll start slowly at first, but if you're willing to trust us with some of your smaller projects, and willing to pay them a fair wage, I'm sure we can come to an agreement."

"And how much of their ' _wage'_ will YOU be keeping, Father?" Ptolemy asked knowingly.

"None."

To his confused reaction, I continued: "The Church's accounts keep us in basic food and clothing," I explained, "I do not require any further monetary payment. What the children earn, via _lawful_ employment, will be theirs to keep. That said, I will _not_ allow you to use us for illegal activity or to further enlarge the gang's territory."

"I also have no intention of using children as soldiers," Ptolemy answered, and there was a hardness in his voice as I nodded acknowledgement and apology at the implication. He paused, obviously weighing the matter closely, and then his visored gaze seemed to return to the sign over the gate.

"An orphanage on Omega," he chuckled, and he shook his head. And then suddenly there was a blue _flicker_ , and I found myself locked in a stasis field.

"We'll try it your way, priest," Ptolemy Emrys hissed, walking a few steps closer, his fist glowing blue. "But be warned: if I hear the slightest _hint_ , the merest _rumor_ , that you are using these children for your own profit, gain, or pleasure, I will be back. And on that day, our conversation will not be as civil as this one has been. Blink if you understand what I have said."

I blinked, slowly and deliberately. Then the stasis field collapsed, and I stretched reflexively.

"The Light of Amun-Ra keep you then, Father Ignatius of Earth."

I took a deep breath. I admit, I had not anticipated him being a biotic.. or swearing by a god I only vaguely recalled from historical texts. Recovering, I made the sign of the cross between us. "And the peace of our Lord go with thee, my son."

His head cocked again, whether in confusion or amusement, I did not know. Then he turned and strode away, followed by the rest of his band. I turned back towards the gate, crossing myself as I closed the gate behind me.

 _St. Dismas, my thanks for your intercession this day._

* * *

 **Broken Vessel  
** _(Laila Adonis)_

 **Date: 6-15-2184**

 **Location: Gozu District, Omega**

"This is a bad idea," I grumbled as Khen and I walked down the street. As grungy as Doru was, it was a paradise compared to this place. Over in the corner, four vorcha were eating _something_ that could only be described as rotting meat, with no indication of it had been a person or an animal before they'd gotten to it.

"Come on," Khen said, and I could hear his insufferable smile, even with his helmet on. "What's so bad about it?"

"It has us torturing a shop-owner to tell us everything he _might_ know about Archangel," I answered.

"I never said anything about torturing anyone."

I cocked my head sideways in confusion. "You said you were going to _get answers_ …"

"I said, 'There's more than one way to get answers.'" Khen clarified. "And that remains true. I'm going to ask him what he knows about Archangel, quiet and polite-like."

"And when he says nothing?" I asked doubtfully.

"I'm going to tell him that there's a substantial reward if he sends information to us at a particular address," he shrugged. "And then we're going to watch to see _when_ he contacts Archangel to tell him that we're here to hunt him."

I nodded slowly, trying to follow his mental patterns. "And when Archangel runs a trace on the address you give the shop owner…"

"He and his group will no doubt attempt to ambush an empty apartment building with the Omni-Tool inside," Khen nodded, "while we wait patiently outside."

I grunted non-committedly.

"What? Not a good enough plan?" Khentu asked.

"It's not a _good_ plan, as much as it's no longer a _terrible_ one," I retorted.

The two of us entered the building we had scouted out the day before. Running any kind of business on Gozu required serious backing and muscle. That meant that most of the buildings here sported a symbol of whatever gang was laying claim to the place. This shop, however, was conspicuously unmarked, and equally conspicuously unmarred.

Whoever was protecting this store had no ties to any of the gangs around, and yet was someone that none of the locals wanted to tangle with. That narrowed the list of possibilities down considerably, and Archangel was pretty high on that list.

'The Pillar of Strength', as far as stores on Omega went, was a fairly non-descript place, with decent clothing organized into neat rows and racks. Leather coats, work jackets, heavy boots and the like, all well-made or well-mended. On the other side of the store were several racks of armor plate. None of the full suits that you could find on the upper levels, but certainly a step above what most of the other locals offered.

"Greeting, friends," the shopkeeper, a thin turian, called out as a low-pitched buzzer announced our entrance. "What can I do for you? If you're looking for replacement parts, I don't think I can match the quality of what you're already wearing, but I can certainly do my best. Got the best technician in the District here: if he can't fix it, friend, well, let's just say it's broken."

 _Honest, yet good-natured_. I found myself casting my eyes up and down his form, noting the Oma Ker colony markings, the length of his fringe and… _those hips_. _Not bad-looking at all, either._

"Nothing quite so fancy," Khen answered, reaching up to remove his helmet, both to speak more clearly and to subtly communicate to the owner and the other employees that our intentions were peaceful. "Just looking for information, and willing to pay handsomely for it."

He placed several large-denomination chits on the counter to emphasize his point. The shop owner looked impressed, and shared a look at the two humans sewing clothes in the corner, and the batarian polishing armor in the back before answering. "What kind of information you looking for?"

"You look like the kind of turian that keeps an eye out for trouble," Khen grinned, his free hand fiddling with the chits on the counter. "You ever hear of a fella calls himself Archangel? Supposed to be a turian, fancies blue armor? Palavan markings? Word on the station says he runs his operations from somewhere 'round here."

The slight _freeze_ at the blunt question did tell us a lot, the man blinking slowly, and I could tell it was taking physical effort on his part to keep his mandibles from flaring.

"You part of the Mob that's hunting him?" he asked.

"Sure are, friend," Khen nodded, never taking the disarming smile off his face. "Price on his head like that? His best friend is probably helping fetch him in."

The turian's head cocked sideways in a wry grin. "Last I heard, you lot were having a lot of trouble running him down. What makes you think I could help?"

I felt my own mandibles clench in irritation, but he wasn't wrong. Most of the Mob sic'd on Archangel by the Eclipse and the Talons had, just as Khen had predicted, descended on Gozu and Kima _en masse_ , which immediately sparked off a whole series of turf wars, wiping out most of the gutter trash in short order but letting more groups show in their place to try their hand at hunting or at grabbing territory.

In the ensuing chaos, it was impossible to tell which attacks were Archangel's group, and which were retaliatory strikes by the Gozu Boys, the True Suns, or the countless other small-time gangs on this level.

"If you've heard that, then you know _why_ we're willing to pay for good help," I spoke up, raising my voice so as to be heard by the other shop workers. "We're after one single _shtako_ who thinks he can be Omega's own private Spectre. Unlike him, we are not looking to bring any innocents into his private little war with Aria."

Archangel had of course declared no such war, but throwing the Black Queen's name around usually brought results on this station when nothing else would. Regardless of race, politics, or religion, the one thing everyone held equally sacred was Omega's One Rule: Don't. Fuck. With. Aria.

The shopkeeper nodded slowly, but then turned back to Khen with a shake of his head.

"I wish I was a good-enough liar to tell you something and take your money, but to be honest, I don't have much to tell you," he shrugged. "There's a thousand different rumors about Archangel running through this shop every week. Spirits alone know which are true, and which are varren-shit."

Khen sighed and replaced his helmet before collecting the credit chits on the counter, but then he passed the shopkeeper a fifty-credit chit.

"For your honesty," he stated, spinning up his Omni-Tool. "And if you hear any more rumors, send them to _this_ address. There'll be much more where that chit came from."

The turian nodded acknowledgement as we left. We walked a good way down the main thoroughfare before ducking back into a side street.

"Waz?" I asked once we were a bit away.

 ** _"Shop owner just sent a scrawny batarian kid running down the alley,"_** our asari sniper answered me.

 ** _"You want us to follow him, boss?"_** Osman asked eagerly.

"Nothing doing," Khen shook his head. "That street-rat would have you lost and turned around before you went a hundred yards."

 ** _"Hey,"_** Osman protested. **_"I grew up on Omega."_**

"Could anybody follow _you,_ if this were Little Egypt?" Khentu asked. There was silence on the other end of the conversation. "I thought not. These are _his_ streets, Oz; everybody else is just living on them."

"We can assume the message has been sent," I stated, and Khen nodded to back me up.

"How?" Agrippa asked, falling into step beside us. "I mean, how do we know he's not sending the kid for noodles?"

"The shop owner's neck," Khentu answered.

"I was wondering if you'd noticed," I agreed, then turned to explain to confused Agrippa. "Raw patch from a recently-removed slave-collar. Same for all the workers behind the counter."

"A batarian-named store, run by a recently-freed turian and human slaves, just one Batarian who wasn't lording over everyone?" Khentu asked. "Odds are ten to one that they owe Archangel for that particular detail."

"Hence the lack of gang symbols on the building," Agrippa nodded, catching up slowly but surely. "So now what? We prep the apartment to receive our friends?"

"Call up Dexidos and his Talons," Khen answered, "tell them what's going on, and ask him if he was serious in offering help."

"You got it."

"Now," Khen sighed, "who's up to grab a bite to eat before we set up the party for our friends?"

"Now _that_ ," I grinned. "T _hat_ is a good idea."

* * *

 **Omega's Child  
** _(Khentu Emrys)_

 **Date: 6-16-2184**

 **Location: Gozu District, Omega**

 **"We're almost in position,"** Dexidos chirped **. "I have two squads moving left, in case they try anything from the empty warehouse."**

"Doubt it," I answered. "Too big and too open. If they were spotted, they'd have no cover. If Archangel was that stupid, he'd be dead by now."

 **"True,"** he admitted, **"but better safe than spaced."**

I couldn't argue with the Talon there.

After nearly two months of hunting this asshole, we were still not really any closer than when we'd first come down. Hunting 'a turian in blue armor' in the middle of fucking Omega had been as complicated as it sounds. Even Jaroth and the Eclipse had stopped coming down after the fourth or fifth false alarm. The maddening aspect were the copycat vigilantes that had popped up in Archangel's wake. Every time someone thought they'd gotten the real one, he'd show up again and humiliate someone... and he'd viciously go after whoever had gotten the copy.

On the top of that, the guy was smart, I had to give him that. Targeting slave pens and food warehouses had bought him some hard-won favor with the Gozu and Kima streets. He was _their_ vigilante, _their_ guardian angel…

 _Huh, maybe that's why he's called that_ , I thought, ashamed I hadn't put something _that_ obvious together until now. Point was, despite the fact that we were almost _positive_ he wasn't a local boy, they saw him as 'one of them.' Us? We were the 'Uppers' coming down to their world. But that was the story everywhere. The people in Doru scoffed at the 'Uppers' in Fumi, who in turn scoffed at the 'Uppers' in the Afterlife District. Everybody on this station resented the people above them, and looked down, figuratively and literally, on the people below.

 _Welcome to Fucking Omega_.

 **"Got something,"** Waz's voice cut into my thoughts. **"Garbage truck, coming down the street really slowly."**

"And?"

 **"It's the second time it's done that."**

I sat up, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. Now that… that was promising. But I did my best to restrain my vibrant optimism in exchange for tempered reason.

"Could be the Gozu Boys having a look-see," I answered slowly. "Everybody stay calm."

The garbage truck slowly coasted by. There was no doubt in my mind there were armed figures inside observing us, but the only question was _whose_ armed figures they were.

 **"Emrys,"** Dexidos' voice came over the radio again, **"tell your men in the apartment building opposite to hide themselves better."**

A cold feeling washed over me as I raised my Omni-Tool to answer. "That would be difficult, as we don't _have_ anybody in the apartment building."

 **"Well then who -?"**

There was a very unmistakable _thudding_ sound, followed by a whistle. It was Laila who shouted first.

"Rocket!"

Right on cue, two rockets slammed into our position, sending several bodies rag-dolling across the room.

"Ambush!" I heard myself shouting now. "Return fire! Focus fire on the rockets!"

I brought my rifle up and fired towards the level the rockets' smoke trail indicated as their origin.

"Three figures!" Agrippa shouted, combining his own firepower to mine. "Moving left, they're trying to –"

The rest of the gruff turian's sentence was cut off as a sniper round burned straight through his shields and his neck armor, nearly decapitating him instantly.

"What the _fuck_ kind of rifle was that?" Laila asked, slamming down into cover next to me.

"A gods-damned big one!" I answered. "I think we can safely say that we found Archangel!"

"More like he found _us_ ," Laila answered mirthlessly. "Incoming!"

Another rocket slammed home, and more Arrows went down.

"Jesse! Sit-rep!" I yelled as my barely-recovered shields went down again, my helmet blaring obnoxiously.

 **"Flint is down,"** the drell's voice answered. **"Kruk is wounded. With your permission, we're pulling back to the Fast-Travel depot. The streets are narrower, easier to defend."**

"Do it," I agreed. "Waz, shift left to give them some cover!"

 **"Little busy!"** came the reply, and when I stole a glance up at her post, I could see flashes of biotics. _Somebody,_ or by the look of it _several_ somebodies, were having a biotic showdown up there.

"Move up, you lazy Dogs!" Lydia Chang called out, realizing at the same time I did that Waz's squad was effectively out of the fight. "Move or die!"

She had a point: they knew where we were, and had obviously come prepared. We, the ambushers, had well and truly become the ambushed. If Lydia and her squad could hold in the front...

Another _boom_ from mystery sniper sent her down to the deck, her rifle clattering away, her hand still gripping the trigger. She was lucky: the Incinerate-Round had instantly cauterized her now-stump of a left arm. Based on her hoarse and panicked screaming, however, she didn't _feel_ lucky at this precise moment.

 _Amun-Fucking-Ra._

"Laila!" I called out, moving forward to cover the two Arrows pulling Chang back into cover. "Lead everybody left to hook up with Dex and the Talons! Get back to the square from there."

"Got it!" Laila shouted, motioning a group to follow the evacuation order. "So our plan is escape?"

"These fuckers came prepared, and we're slightly outgunned at the moment," I shrugged, an odd calm washing over me, even as Lydia's limp body was carried past me. "We regroup, remount, and reload, then we hit back with a vengeance. Go!"

Laila nodded wordlessly, moving to follow Lydia's stretcher-bearers. I then turned my attention back to where Chang's Avenger was still _click-clicking_ on the floor, overheated. Based on where the shot had come from, there was only one place our ambushers' sniper could be; I darted left _just_ in time for a shot to scream over my shoulder, skimming off my helmet's shields, confirming my suspicions.

I let out a curse as I ran through my options: the simple facts was that I didn't have the firepower to trade shots with him. And in the space of a few minutes, I had lost half of my squad commanders and the other two were busy trying desperately to stay alive. And he'd just barely missed me, something told me I wouldn't be so lucky when he pulled the trigger again.

 _Fuck it then_ , I thought grimly. _Time to do something stupid…_

My incinerate blast blew a hole in the wall one floor up from me, and in the building just adjacent to ours. The newly-made opening revealed a staggering figure. I charged forward, firing off several bursts to keep the newly-revealed sniper's head down. The blue-armored turian ducked instinctively, even as my own shots flickered uselessly off his shields.

 _Archangel_. _Finally_.

A stupidly-massive sniper rifle whirled back towards me. Out of desperation, or maybe my own stupid ego, I fired my boots' jump-jets, which brought up _suddenly_ in his direction. The bold-yet-arguably-stupid move must have taken him by surprise, cause his shot streaked _just_ to the left of my shoulder. To his credit, he didn't waste time trying to re-aim the unwieldy rifle for a second shot, opting instead to drop it and step back. Even as I landed, my sawed-off shotgun was firing, this time sparking across his armor. A two-toed-boot snapped up to connect with my elbow, knocking my weapon out of my hand as the whole limb went numb.

There was a moment where the two of us paused, squaring off in our various stances. "OK, asshole; let's dance," I muttered aloud, trying to close the distance to grapple with him properly.

Archangel's turian physiology worked in his favor, his _much_ longer legs and arms making my own helmet ringing as twin blows connected. Whoever this guy was, he was well-trained, and well-disciplined. I bent at the waist and came on doggedly, managing to wrap a left arm around the narrow waist. My right fist came up in two savage blows to his torso, and I was rewarded with the sound of a pained grunt with each one. In response, his legs bent in a perfect wrestler's throw, and I was sailing through air… and back out the window through which I had entered, coming down two stories before I hit pavement and everything went black.

* * *

 _"Sidonis, pass the word: weapons and ammo only. We don't have time to peel these assholes out of their armor."_

The words seemed to be coming from far away, difficult to hear over my helmet's blaring alarms trying to inform me that _everything_ was broken. I didn't really need the hint... my _everything_ was pulsing in agony.

 _"_ You got it, Archangel," another turian voice answered. _"_ You heard him, guys: weapons and ammunition only!"

"Hey Angel!" came another shout. "Take a look at this!"

"The fuck are aliens doing wearing Blood Arrows tattoos?" I heard the first voice ask. "I thought they were a human-only gang."

"Probably growing desperate," a feminine voice answered. "Their asari sniper also had Arrow paint on her armor. She was good, I had to give her that."

"That's a good sign, isn't it?" the second turian, Sidonis, I think it was, crowed. "Means we're making a difference here on this station! We've got the gangs scared of _us_!"

A ragged cheer went up from the square.

"Hey Archangel!" came another voice _much_ closer to me. "We've got a live one here!"

A hand closed around my shoulder and turned me over, which shot even more pain through my whole body. The sharp gasp and choked cry I guess I had come from me, but I couldn't really remember. The face that came into view was…the turian shopkeeper from The Pillar of Strength _._

"Not for long," Sidonis called out, and I heard a charging handle being pulled.

"Wait." Anohter Turian, male, commanded.

"What for?" the woman was asking.

"Because he _said so_ ," Sidonis shot back, and more faces came into view: another turian and an asari. Then the blue-armored turian stepped into view.

"Get his helmet off, Sen," he ordered. The asari rolled her eyes, but moved to obey, clicking my helmet off my head, exposing me to the smell of smoking and… burning bodies.

"You alive, ganger?" Archangel asked, nudging my legs with his foot, shooting crippling pain up my body.

 _"For_ the…" my sentence was cut off with a blindingly-painful cough, and I tasted blood in my throat. "For the time _being…_ "

"Answer my questions," the blue turian said gravely, "and your passing will be quick and painless."

"Wow," I chuckled despite the pain. "You suck at negotiating."

"I don't _negotiate_ with slavers and dealers," Archangel hissed. "DO you have any idea how many _children_ on the Citadel will die from the shit you pump out of this shithole?"

"We're not on the _karking_ Citadel," I retorted before I could stop myself. A fist connected with my jaw, courtesy of the shopkeeper. My world went white, and I barely heard what came next.

" _Mel_ ," Archangel rebuked, then returned his attention to me. "How many more teams are there on this little… mob?"

"Little mob?" I coughed again. At least a couple of ribs were broken, and there was a weird tinge when I tried to turn my head to look him in the face. "This is Omega, _shtako_. There's enough to kill you and everyone you know twice over. That's what happens when you make yourself into an insufferable nuisance."

"Let them come," the asari huffed. "We'll kill them all."

"Even if that were true, _Sen_ ," I said, switching to Thessian, coughing a few times. "You can't... kill the drug trade. If you... wiped out every drug dealer... and slaver on Omega today, twice as.. twice as many would rise tomorrow. You're.. fighting a war you've already lost."

"Doesn't mean it's not worth fighting," Archangel shrugged, and a Carnifax pistol was in his right hand now. "So, any last words?"

"Yeah," I nodded, grinning like the idiot I was. "If... you're gonna.. kill someone, you morons, _kill_ them! Don't give them time to arm a grenade!"

With a force of will, I hurled the small disk at the smug turian. Granted, the throw that was supposed to _hit_ his face turned into a weak toss that landed at his feet, but it was better than nothing.

"Oh, crap." The word was almost a resigned sigh of irritation, with no trace of alarm or far.

 _"Look out!"_

There was a flash of blue, and then white. Then everything faded to black once more.

* * *

 _Khen!_

 _Hang on Khen… I'll get you out of here…_

 _Hang in there, lover, we've got you._

 _Khen, don't you DARE die on me…_

"Waz?" I croaked. "Laila?"

The vaguely turian-shaped blur nodded. "That's right, Khen, just stay awake! You hear me! Stay Awake!"

"So… tired."

"Dammit, we're losing him! Doc, do something!"

" Madam, please remain calm. Daniel, another 50cc's of anthropoltizol. _"_

"Yes, Doctor!"

"Did…" I wheezed, "Did we get the bastard?"

A salarian face with half a horn missing loomed into view as a breathing mask was placed over my face.

"Apologies, but I need you to breathe deeply now, Mr. Emrys," the high-pitched voice soothed, the words coming clipped and fast. "Count backwards from one hundred, please?"

I don't think I made it to ninety-seven.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **So the hunt for Archangel... hasn't gone well so far.**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

BJ Hanssen: I hope to flesh Ignatius' character out a little further over the next couple of chapters.

Draco Oblivion: To be honest, I didn't like Ptolemy when I began this story, but he's grown on me as as well. As far as the priest, he's actually inspired by your wondering what Christianity would look like at the time of Mass Effect. I started wondering the same thing... and thus Father Ignatius came into being.

seabo76: Well, you have to be a _little_ crazy to open an orphanage on Omega. And no, it does not bode well for Tol...

ROCK ON, my friends!

EE-RAH!

-Tusken1602


	14. Act 2: Wake-Up Call

**Broken Vessel  
** _(Laila Adonis)_

 **Date: 7-7-2184**

 **Location: Afterlife Medical Center, Afterlife District, Omega**

"Hey."

The simple word sent me rocketing to my feet, spinning towards the figure sprawled on the bed as I went from asleep to awake in an instant.

"Khentu!" I opened my mouth to say a thousand different things, but that was the only thing that escaped my vocal chords.

"Can…" he croaked, "Can I get some water?"

I reached over and grabbed the bottle sitting on the bedside table. I placed the straw in Khen's mouth and watched him take several gulps.

"Oh, _gods_ , that's better," he exhaled, and then his head hit the back of the pillow. "So… what's the damage?"

"That can wait," I stated and started to rise, only for a hand to grab my arm in a surprisingly strong vise-grip.

"I could make it an _order_ of your _Medjay_. Sit-rep. Start off with how long I've been here. No; scratch that: start off with where _here_ is."

"Afterlife Medical Center," I answered after a moment. "You've been out for three weeks now."

"How _in Set's_ name did… no, no," Khen waved a thousand questions aside. "Casualties?"

"Agrippa," I answered, and Khentu nodded. "And Kruk, but you knew that before you… went off and decided to be a _spirits_ -damned fool."

Khentu nodded wordlessly. "Who else?"

"Elliot, Caversham, Lilith… and Flint died a few days later."

He winced and nodded again. "Wasilla?"

"She made it out free and clear," I answered, "Along with the rest of her squad."

"My family is never going to let me live this down," Khentu clenched his fists. Then a puzzled look came across his face. "Wait… you said the _Afterlife_ Medical Center? What are we doing this far up? And how can my father afford to…" He paused, clearly working things out in his head. "...My father _can't_ afford this."

"Apparently, the medical bills being paid by a priest," I explained. "Your brother set it all up: the priest needed the Jabra brothers' warehouse. Your brother needed a way to pay for all this."

He blinked. "What?"

"Well after the Salarian down in Tuhi stabilized you, the fact remained that you needed several surgeries. Surgeries he didn't have the equipment to handle. Your father…" I stopped.

"My father didn't want to spend another credit on me," Khentu finished for me. "And Tol decided to get creative. Hmm."

He stopped talking for nearly a minute, thinking things over, and then looked back up at me. "Any other news?"

I felt my mandibles flare in amusement when I remembered. "Your brother got married," I said, "The AKs and the Pit Vipers are now officially The Vipers of Knesset."

"Wow," Khentu sputtered, "Seriously? Ptolemy actually agreed to serve under Bomazi?"

"Bomazi has been appointed the _Third_ of the Blood Arrows," I answered. "Your brother _leads_ the Vipers of Knesset as _Haty-a_."

Khentu leaned back and placed his head back on the pillow. "Wow."

"I know," I nodded. "It's a lot to take in."

"We'll have to… have to…" Khen began but then his head slumped, and his slow and steady breathing resumed.

"I've got it handled, boss," I said gently, placing his hands back on his chest and pulling the sheet back over him. I turned slowly and walked out into the hallway, spinning up my Omni-Tool. A smiling asari face came into view first.

 **"How's our favorite vegetable this morning?"** she asked. To the undiscerning, that might have been considered a dismissive or even offensive question, but I knew it for what it was: a coping mechanism to keep emotional distance, a habit honed over a few centuries of 'goodbyes' and heartbreak.

"Awake," I answered simply.

Her composure shattered, pure joy, awe, and disbelief taking turns expressing themselves on her face. **"WHAT!?"**

"He woke up for a few minutes," I continued, "His first questions were about the rest of us, and how we were doing."

 **"Of course it was, the idiot,"** Waz chuckled, lifting a hand to touch her eyepatch. Her natural regeneration would replace it within a few months, but she was still getting used to the lack of depth perception.

 **"I'll… I'll come up there as soon as I can,"** she said finally. **"Maybe bring the twins with me,"** she added with a wry grin.

"Waz… They are _children_ , for ancestors' sake."

The 'twins' was the term given to Hadasi and Drella. Even though they weren't _actually_ twins, they looked similar enough in appearance and age to pull it off, and they enjoyed the certain notoriety it gave them, along with the drooling look of most of the young male humans in the Arrows. However, over the time they had been with us, the two of them had developed a horrible juvenile crush on Khentu, born out of the gratitude of his intervention, and the care he had shown them since. It was harmless enough, I supposed, but wasn't something I wanted Wasilla to encourage, by any means.

 **"Fine,"** Waz chuckled, and then her face grew serious for a moment. " **They'll still be glad to hear the news."**

"We all will," I nodded. "Pass on the word to Lydia, won't you?"

 **"Will do,"** the asari nodded. **"You tell Tol?"**

"Right after you hang up."

 **"I won't keep you then,"** she replied. **"Good luck."**

"Thanks." I replied, talons flicking over my omni-tool the moment she hung up. Ptolemy looked equally relieved after I'd explained the situation, his image nodding as he visibly relaxed.

 **"If he awakes again, tell him I will be up to see him as soon as possible,"** he sighed.

"I will, _Haty-a_ ," I answered.

Ptolemy's expression grew thoughtful, rubbing at his chin. **"I… heard about the attack on the Armory. To be honest, I'm surprised the Consortium hasn't attacked sooner. Have you made any response to the…?"**

"I did," I cut him off, "I flayed the skin off their commander's back and hung it outside the door facing the Warrens."

" **Amun Ra** ," Ptolemy chuckled, **"You've come a long way since the innocent little slave girl."**

I opened my mouth to retort, and then shut it again. He was right: only a little over a year ago, I was a scared, fainthearted slave, desperately wanting to just stay alive. Today? Today, I had led a branch of a human-centric gang in defense of the very building in which I had once cowered helplessly in prayer to the spirits to protect me from tomorrow.

 **"Laila?"**

Ptolemy's question brought me back to our conversation. "Sorry?" I asked.

 **"Where does that leave your… Pharaoh's Hounds?"**

My breath caught in my throat and my mandibles worked for a moment before answering. "You talked to your father… to the _Pharaoh_?"

" **You're your own branch of the Blood Arrows now,"** Ptolemy confirmed. " **Father didn't like it, but he has chosen not to object. I believe he considers it payment for the alien blood shed for the Blood Arrows' cause.** "

"With… with who in charge, sir?" I asked warily.

" **Khentu has been named _Haty-a_ of the Pharaoh's Hounds**," he answered. " **Lydia Chang, Wasilla, and yourself are his _Hyksos_.**"

"He won't thank you for that," I chuckled, and was relieved to see Ptolemy share my amusement.

 **"Well, he's got to be alive to be annoyed with me,"** the future _Pharaoh_ of the Blood Arrows shrugged. **"You and I both know that Khentu will never strive for more power or more responsibilities. But he won't turn down the roles that are thrust upon him, especially if that means he has other people's lives in his hands."**

I grinned and nodded in agreement.

 **"You will oversee securing the Warrens to prevent the Consortium from expanding in our direction,"** Ptolemy continued. **"I… think you should focus on being… practical and expedient in your recruiting. Keep me informed as to your progress… and my brother's. Emrys out."**

I powered down my Omni-Tool, breathing a sigh of relief. Mentu Emrys couldn't _actually_ give us permission to recruit aliens into the Blood Arrows, on account of the Jackals and their weird human-centric cult, but Ptolemy was telling us to get our numbers back up to fighting strength, and fast. There just weren't enough humans on Omega to stick to the Jackals' close-minded policy. I thought for a moment, and then brought up my OT again to shoot Wasilla and Lydia the news.

We had a lot of work to do over the next couple weeks.

* * *

 **Omega's Child**

 _(Khentu Emrys)_

 **Date: 8-19-2184  
Location: Afterlife Medical Center, Omega**

"This. Is. Ridiculous." I tightened my grip on the rail, my knuckles turning white. I was leaning against Wasilla, trying desperately to get my feet to move the way I was telling them to. So far, no luck.

It had been over a month now that I had been undergoing what the doctors were calling 'Physical Therapy.' I simply called it 'Torture.'

"Don't be such a baby," Wasilla rolled her eyes. "I lost an eye and you don't hear me complaining."

"Fuck…" I gasped. "You."

"Not yet," Wasilla shook her head. "Doctors say you're still getting used to those new-fangled ribs they gave you. 'No stress' they said, so celibate you'll remain."

I felt my chest compress in a chuckle, despite my best efforts.

"Is that any way to talk to your... _Haty-a_?" I asked, but I felt a layer of cold sweat coming across my brows.

"The boy has a point."

The two of us spun to see a massive figure standing in the door. Wasilla audibly gasped, and would have dropped me to the floor, but the giant Krogan waved a hand, and I was pulled back up by a gentle biotic field.

"Patriarch," I groaned in greeting, happy to take the excuse to stop. "As much as I would find it flattering, I assume you are not here just to inquire about my health."

"I am here on behalf of Aria," the ex-warlord of Omega answered. "She has questions…concerning Archangel."

I let out a slow breath, saying nothing as Waz helped me back to my seat. The Asari and I locked eyes, and I nodded once before she left the room.

"You are recovering nicely… for a human," the Krogan rumbled. "Detonating a grenade to take your enemy out with you… it's commendably _Krogan_ of you."

"Well," I shrugged, holding up my left hand, showing my missing pinkie and ring finger, "I'm short two fingers and the left side of my face for it. I was… _hoping_ that my grenade might have taken care of the _shtako_. You have news?"

"Only that he appears to have resumed his activities in Kima and Gozu," Patriarch replied. "It _is_ possible that you managed to injure him. That would explain his lengthy inaction."

"Or he's _died_ , and it's taken this long for someone to take up his mantle," I thought aloud.

"Possible," he admitted. "What do you remember of your conversation with him? His voice, his mannerisms, his cadre?"

I closed my eyes, trying to recall details. Patriarch remained silent for the several minutes it took me to think about it and order my thoughts, the old creature probably willing to wait hours if it took that long.

"There was about, maybe a full dozen that I saw," I managed eventually. "Only names I got were Sen the asari and then two turians, Sidonis, and… _Mel_ , the shopkeeper at the Pillar of Strength."

" _Ex-_ shopkeeper," corrected Patriarch. "The Pillar of Strength burned to the ground shortly after your ambush."

"Not surprised," I sighed, "If Archangel suspected that I survived, he would know that would be the first place my people would go for revenge."

I paused, replaying our conversation repeatedly in my mind to make sure I had the details right.

"Ex-military, obviously," I continued. "Stood rigid at attention, like he had a giant stick up his ass. Also… he couldn't shut up about the Citadel, and the Council's war on drugs. Keep on about how many children were gonna die on the Citadel thanks to us, and that sort of shite."

Patriarch grunted, placing an enormous fist beneath his chin. "Any idea as to his long-term goals?"

"To kill as many slavers, dealers, and gangsters he can before he dies?" I shrugged. "He didn't strike me as the kind who'd be interested in territory, money, or even popularity. He's a soldier who doesn't have any other war to fight, so he's creating his own wherever he can."

"I concur," Patriarch grinned, and a cold shudder ran down my back. Whether it was because the strain I had been putting my new body parts through, or the sheer uneasiness of seeing a giant Krogan _grinning_ , I couldn't say for sure. "Very perceptive, Emrys. I can see how you've managed to lead your own gang by now."

"My own _sub-gang_ ," I corrected. "And I'm not leading _shit_ from up here."

"Still," Patriarch continued, "It's clear to see why your father would want you dead."

I blinked, and _now_ a definite chill came over me. "Pardon?"

"You needed medical care to survive, and your father refused to pay," came the answer. "At the very least, Mentu Emrys wanted you crippled or comatose."

"My father couldn't _afford_ all this shit," I objected, gesturing to my patched- and stitched-together body. "Amun-Ra, this is the _bare_ minimum, and it's still two or three fortunes more than I'll ever…"

"After almost an entire year of being the _God_ of Little Egypt, and controlling one of the larger docks of the station, _and_ either taking over or receiving tribute from most of Lower Doru, you're telling me that your father couldn't afford all of this twice over?" There was condescension and doubt laced into every word of Patriarch's sentence. "You are not _that_ naïve, boy. Your father fears you, and wished to remove a rival to his own son, before his bastard could overthrow him."

"Why would he think I'm trying to overthrow him? Or Ptolemy?" I sputtered, trying to follow this mental current.

"For the simple reason that you're a much better leader than he is," Patriarch answered simply.

"I don't _want_ to be a leader!" I insisted, "Ptolemy is the one who-"

"That is beside the point," he shrugged. "Your brother does not have the charisma, knowledge of alien cultures, or contacts in the other powerful gangs that you do."

"Because that is literally my _job_ , not because I'm trying to assemble any kind of coalition against my father!" I protested. " _Not_ because I'm plotting to kill my father!"

"Then you are blind as well as stupid," Patriarch said calmly, yet firmly. "Your father angered the Brotherhood by refusing to turn over the Lower Docks to them, as agreed. Likewise, the Talons and the White Tigers did not receive the Kuaka Slave Yards, as they were promised."

"But we negotiated a truce about all that," I stated dismissively. "There's no way that…"

" _YOU_ negotiated that truce," Patriarch cut me off again. " _YOU_ have been your father's sword against the Consortium, the Eight-Zero Demons, and the Taiga Horde this past year, with your brother gone. As far as the Blood Arrows go, _you_ have been the force behind your father's successes. And _still,_ had it not been for your brother's intervention, he would have left you down in Gozu to die."

"That… that doesn't mean he was trying to _kill_ me…" I continued, hearing the anger seep into the emptiness of my words.

"True," Patriarch nodded, "Only that he did not care enough about you to part with a few credits. Tell me, Khentu Emrys: what would you _not_ do for your son?"

My teeth ground together as I clenched my jaw and my fists. Then slowly, I relaxed them.

"I don't _have_ a son. I'm _not_ a father," I said finally. "I cannot answer that question."

Patriarch snorted again. "Perhaps there is wisdom to found in you yet, Khentu Emrys."

Then he turned and moved through the door, vanishing out without so much as a farewell. The room now seemed _much_ bigger than I had previously thought, with the absence of his massive form and the fading rumbles of his footsteps. Wasilla waited until she was sure he was well and truly gone before sticking her head in and gaping at me.

" _That_ was PATRIARCH?" she wheezed as she came in. "As in, the _actual_ Patriarch? As in…"

"The ex-warlord of Omega?" I asked. "Yes."

She sank down onto the bed next to me. "Goddess," she exhaled. "What in the world did he want with you?"

"Questions about Archangel," I explained. "Apparently, there's _still a_ blue-armored turian running around down there."

She hissed, and then spat out a string of less-than-eloquent Thessian curses.

"I know, I know," I cut her off, and then decided to change the subject. "What's the news on the Hounds?"

"Laila is pulling everything together quickly," Waz said admiringly. "Batarian recruits mostly, but there's a few turians and humans scattered in there, too. Chang is whipping them into shape. It's kinda sexy to watch, in her own way."

I accepted the file she was sending me on my Omni-Tool, looking over the dozen or so faces that appeared on my screen.

"Only problem is that we don't have any equipment to arm them _with_ ," I observed, "and until the tithes start coming in, we're not going to have the credits to _buy_ them, either."

"What do you suggest?"

I looked over at the map of the Warrens that Laila had drawn up, such as we knew. Only Aria's people had the full readouts of the station, and they guarded those like the treasures they were. Most of the Warrens were abandoned lightless tunnels, filled only with creatures that _used_ to be people. But the main passageways, the larger thoroughfares, leading down to Cala…

"The Hellions," I finally decided, tapping a finger on the red-marked area. "Human named Malcolm Donahue leads them, if I remember right. We put pressure on them, they'll join us…. Or we'll take their territory by force."

"Risky," Waz hummed, "The Hellions have close ties with the Connies. They might come help them if they were pressed: that could spark into an open war with the Arrows and Consortium."

"Nah," I shook my head. "Malcolm and his lads are mostly humans; Consortium's leaders are all highborn batarians: they won't lift a finger for them, unless it's to attack them at the same time we do. That will drive them into the fold with us all the faster, which suits our purposes fine."

"Spoken like a true _Pharaoh_ ," Wasilla teased.

"Shut up," I punched her shoulder playfully to hide my very real wince.

"Just for that, two more times around the room," she said in mock severity. "And no _whining_ about it either: or it'll be more."

"You're a monster," I complained as her biotics pulsed me back to my feet before I could object.

"Should have thought of that before you hired me as your _Hyksos_ ," she retorted.

"I _didn't,_ " I snarked, "That was my brother's decision!"

"Shut up and walk, crybaby."

* * *

 **Chosen Heir**

 _(Ptolemy Emrys)_

 **Date: 8-19-2184  
Location: Little Egypt, Doru District, Omega**

"Barely married a month, and you and your bride want to start reorganizing the Blood Arrows?" Abdul teased gently, nudging Isola with an elbow. She smiled back at him, and then their eyes returned to me at the head of the table.

"I'm not _Pharaoh_ yet," I grinned in turn back to my father. "Here we stand, with the Blood Arrows having their own territory, and the Vipers and the Hounds with their own regions."

"So," Mentu Emrys stated," you're proposing that, rather than having three or four gangs sharing territory…"

"Have one territory," I answered, "with each gang assuming a different role within Little Egypt."

"What do you mean, different roles?" Abdul asked.

"The Jackals will be free to do what they love best," I explained, "preaching. They will be not only our morale and religious center, they will be policing our streets, keeping their eyes and ears to the ground."

"The Hounds and Khentu will be our vanguard," Isola continued, "Their job will be to go in, hit a target, and vanish like the desert winds."

"And if the Hounds are our dagger, the Vipers will be our sword in battle," I nodded. "Our elite shock troops to bolster the front, supporting wherever they are needed, deployed where the danger is greatest and the threat is worst."

"The rank and file Arrows?" Father asked, betraying nothing in his thoughtful glance.

"They are our shield," I replied, "their job is to push the attack, or hold the line in defense. Whilst they do that, the Hounds will be striking behind enemy lines, weakening our foe in preparation for the Vipers' strike."

"I do not wish to disparage your plan, Ptolemy," Abdul spoke up, "but I would be remiss if I did not point something out?"

"Of course… _Uncle_ ," I nodded, and saw the thin man's face light up at the title before he replied:

"This _is_ a sound plan but such an undertaking will require a complete overhaul of the Blood Arrows." He pursed his lips and furrowed his brows. "The Blood Arrows' greatest strength has been our loose-knit alliance. It has drawn in the gangs and humans who have wanted to _avoid_ the strict hierarchy of the Eclipse or White Tigers, and the wild chaos of the Blood Pack and _their_ lackeys. By reorganizing to something so… _militaristic_ , you will risk losing several of our members to the smaller, less strict gangs."

"Yes," I admitted, "Much work will have to be done, and we _will_ lose people, but there is no way to avoid that. But as for the _many_ who stay with us, on account of the safety and security our organization will ensure, they will be loyal to the _Pharaoh_ , and to the Pharaoh alone."

Father nodded, following my train of thought. Currently, he was the common leader of several separate gangs, any one of which could in theory, sever their allegiance and territory from his control at any time. However, with these proposed changes he would now become the CEO of a militant organization that possessed several assets to deploy against potential enemies.

"Abdul?"

Our late _Pharaoh_ 's lover nodded slowly. " _I did_ say it _'s_ a good plan, Mentu."

"And I concur," Father said, rising to his feet. "What must be done first?"

"With our recent wedding," I said, nodding to Isola, "I control the AKs _and_ the Pit Viper's territory."

"The difficult part will be getting the Jackals to fall in line," Isola explained, "They will be… _hesitant_ , to say the least, to surrender complete control of their assets, troops, and territory."

"I will speak with them," Father stated. "They may not like it, but few of them indeed will go against the word and command of their Pharaoh.. and the promise of total access to every gang's territory to spread their faith will mollify them."

"Exactly what we had hoped," I nodded.

"Abdul," Father said, "Call a meeting with Quan and the rest of the Jackal priesthood. Tell them that their _Pharaoh…_ "

The two of them eft the room, plotting all the way. Isola grinned and looped an arm in my own. "That went… better than we thought it would."

"Not really," I shrugged. "After all we are appealing to my father's ego, and Abdul's greed."

Before she could reply, my Omni-Tool beeped, with an urgent message: **"Haty-a."**

"Yes?" I answered.

 **"We have him."**

My chest tightened. "Alive?"

 ** _"Hyksos_ Nobu and Rasa were careful to prevent him from sustaining any life-threatening injuries."**

I allowed myself a sigh of relief. "I will be right there."

Isola turned to me with a questioning look. "Trouble?"

"It's a small matter," I waved dismissively. "An individual who thought he could cheat us. I'll take care of it, no worries."

"Then I'll see you at home… _husband_."

The promise she added to the word, and the smirk on her shapely lips made require all of my self-control to leave to room.

A few minutes later, I was entering a small room in the Black Pyramid. Mostly where we dealt with cheats or thieves. One of the latter was standing nervously in the middle of the room, his fear rising as he saw me stride in and kick the door shut behind me.

"Mr. Emrys," Nicholas Baron whined, "as I was trying to explain, to these gentlemen, this has all been a severe misunderstanding…"

I cut him off with a punch to the stomach, followed by my knee.

"Six thousand credits," I said slowly.

Baron fell to the ground, gagging.

"That is a lot of money, Mr. Baron."

"Mr. Emrys…" he wheezed.

"Delivered to you over a _year_ ago, now, for information on one Tessa Jackson," I continued. "Specifically, her condition and her whereabouts."

"These kinds of things…"

"Take time, I know," I cut him off. "Which is why, I think everyone here will agree, I've been a remarkably patient man. Now… what have you found out?"

"She… left the station on the _Iswanee_ ," he gasped. "A volus named Nom Rota took her to the Citadel, where she disappeared shortly after."

"Nobu," I said between clenched teeth, "dislocate Mr. Baron's right shoulder."

"Dislocate my whaaaaaaaaargh!?" Nicholas howled as the giant of a man reached over and pulled his arm out of socket as easily as if he was pulling back a chair. He went to the ground, flailing wildly.

"You may recall I gave _this_ information to _you_ as a starting point. Tell me something I already know again, and I'll have Nobu dislocate your _other_ shoulder."

"I… I found her!" He screamed in reply.

"Excellent," I nodded. "Nobu, please _replace_ Mr. Baron's arm back into its socket."

"Wait, wait, wait…AHHHH GOD DAMMIT!"

"You were saying?" I asked.

"She…" he sobbed, "She... was picked up by C-Sec a few weeks later."

"On what charge?"

He shook his head. "Vagrancy… petty theft... a few other minor charges."

I took a deep breath. The thought of Tess behind bars was not a welcome or pleasant one. "And then?"

"Being human, she apparently appealed for Alliance intervention," Baron explained, panting hard but regaining his voice. He might be in agony, but he seemed used to such things, if definitely not enjoying them. "The human embassy on the station got involved, and there was a lot of legal haggling of if she was an Alliance citizen or not, or whether she could apply for _asylum,_ given that technically she was from Omega."

"Mr. Baron," I grimaced. "I will ask you this question only once more: where is Tessa Jackson?"

"Beckenstein!" he said hurriedly as Nobu took a step forward. "She's on Beckenstein. She served an eight-month sentence in an Alliance penal colony there."

I felt my fists clench, and I had to work _extremely_ hard not to order Nobu to kill the miserable wretch there and then. "So _why_ didn't you come to me with this?"

"She paid me not to!" Baron all but wailed. "Eight thousand credits to forget about them, to never tell-"

His next sentence was cut off by my fingers closing around his throat.

"You said she was in a penal colony," I stated coldly, "Where did she get _that_ kind of money?"

Baron made a few interesting sputtering sounds, finding his words only when I relaxed my hand somewhat. "Fell in love... with her. One of the correctional officers did. He... ack, paid me to leave the three of them alone!"

"The… Three of them…"

Baron choked when my fingers tightened again, but he gamely brought up his Omni Tool. With a push of a button, he brought up an image of a trio of humans. It revealed a dark-skinned man, a beautiful woman…

"Oh… Fuck."

And an infant boy who might easily have been mistaken as a younger me.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Well, a lot of realizations and revelations in this chapter (hence the chapter name).  
How will all this play out in the future? Only time will tell. **

**As always,** **your thoughts/ suggestions/ constructive criticisms are welcome in the review section below! To see that someone took the time to leave their thoughts always means a lot to me!**

 **ROCK ON, my friends!**

 **-Tusken1602**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

BJ Hannssen, Draco Oblivion - That's what I was going for: Khentu and the Blood Arrows may be a cut above the Kima and Gozu trash, but are still woefully outclassed, outmatched, and outgunned when going up against someone like Garrus.

seabo76 - Ulterior motives? A Priest? SURELY NOT! ;)

ThePlexx - Khentu has his share of women... just nothing serious. You may have noticed, he tries his hardest NOT to get tied down to anything.

LordSchmodder - Glad to have you here! A group of friends and myself modded a basic D&D 5e campaign (with me as the GM) to play a Mass Effect story. Wasn't perfect, but it was pretty fun.

EE-RAH!


	15. Act 2: Forming Parties

**.**

 **.**

 **.**

 **Omega's Child**

 _(Khentu Emrys)_

 **Date: 11/14/2184  
Location: The Armory, Doru District Warrens, Omega**

"So," I began, trying to get my head around this while my brother paced back and forth across the room, "you've been sitting on this information for _months_ , and you still haven't told your wife?"

"I wanted something more than the word of _scum_ like Baron," Tol scoffed.

" _Ahh,_ " I nodded. "That's why you asked me for Nom Rota's information."

"They confirmed every word of it, when they stopped at Beckenstein," my brother snapped angrily. "Every. Damn. Word."

That made me shrug, "Still doesn't explain why you didn't tell Isola."

"And what could I tell her?" Ptolemy snapped. "That I have a _son_ , fathered by another woman, halfway across the galaxy from me?"

"It was _long before_ you two had even met," I explained with a confused tone that matched my expression. "She'll understand! It's not like she thought you were a _fucking_ virgin before you two got together…"

Ptolemy snorted derisively and resumed his pointless pacing.

"So I assume Peter Baron is dead?" I asked.

Tol gave me a, 'what-kind-of-idiot-do-you-take-me-for?' look. I nodded approvingly: The fewer people that had this information the better, especially when one of them was a self-stylized 'information mercenary.' As far as I was concerned, his fate was sealed the second he had shown the picture to my brother. If the idiot had had any sense he'd have just sent the picture in a message after leaving the station entirely.

"Then I just have one more question."

He glanced at me. "And that is?"

"Are you _stark raving mad_?!"

Tol paused in his pacing to glare.

"You," I said slowly, trying to make sure my words got through to his thick brain. "the leader of a _gang_ on _Omega_ , arguably _the_ most dangerous place in the galaxy, want to drag a traumatized woman and a baby _from Beckenstein_ , arguably one of the _safest_ places in the galaxy, all the way out here... just because that kid looks like you?"

"He is _my son_ ," Tol hissed, as if that explained everything.

"You've never even met him!"

"He. Is. My. Son."

"Gods..." I groaned, "Then start thinking like a father and decide what's best for him, not for you. What kind of life could you offer him or Tess here? Spurned and glowered at by Isola every waking minute of every day, because she didn't pop out a kid for you first? The possibility of being _killed_ , or worse, enslaved in a Consortium raid at any moment? Or even the chance of getting a tin can shoved under a rib by some drugged-up junkie high on Blue Sand? That the kind of life _your son_ deserves?"

My brother shrugged. "We made it through such a childhood unscarred."

That made me scoff, "We are very fucking far from 'unscarred.' Trust me: the kid will have a better life away from this hellhole."

"He is _my_ …"

"I get it," I cut him off irritably. "You had sex with Tess and you didn't think to use fucking protection. But let's just break this down. Best case scenario: Tess agrees to _leave_ her new boyfriend, dragging your child back into the muck of the station. Your wife, your… concubine, and your son resent you for the rest of their lives. However, due to the _fucking_ war going on in the Terminus Systems, who knows how short that may be, so you know…"

"You have made _your point_ ," Tol said with both fists and teeth clenched.

"Have I?" I asked. "You haven't even hit me with your biotics yet. That usually marks the halfway point in our arguments. Hell, I haven't even gotten to the _worst_ case scenario."

"I have… grown up since we were boys," he answered in his 'I'm-the-older-and-wiser-brother' voice. I was entirely ready to continue on anyway, to lay out all the ways Isola would probably try and murder Tess and the infant, when we were interrupted by a short call on my omni-tool.

" _Medjay_ ," Laila's voice cut into the conversation. " _He is here_."

This sentence earned me a curious look from my half-brother.

"I didn't want any confusion explaining exactly which ' _Haty-a_ Emrys' people are talking about," I explained. "Plus, you and Isola's reorganization means that I'm not _really_ a _Haty-a_ anymore, am I?"

"You _are,_ " Tol insisted. "But we're trying to move the Blood Arrows away from being a group of small gangs to…"

"I know, I know, your unified army of Space Egypt," I interrupted, opting out of my brother's hundredth 'we-will-be-united-and-invincible' speech. "We're still going to kick your ass tomorrow evening."

Tol shot me a look that took me back to our days of no-holds-barred clawball tournaments in the middle of Little Egypt as kids.

"That remains to be seen. Your Hounds are not the only ones that have been training. Some of the Vipers have been members longer than you or I have been alive."

"But you see," I countered, "You're trying to teach experienced, life-long gangsters how to fight like soldiers. Yeah, a lot of my lads are young, but that just means that they don't have any bad habits I have to drill out of them. They fight as a team, because they've never known anything else."

Tol nodded, mulling over the point. "Well," he said at last. "The next training session should prove… interested, to say the least."

"That it should," I agreed.

"I'll leave you to your business," he said, pushing off the wall and heading towards the door.

"Ptolemy," I called out, using his full name for once to get my point across. He paused at the threshold.

"Tell her," I insisted. "Far better she hears it from you than from… from… anywhere else."

Tol looked like I had handed him a sour apple to bite into, and then nodded once.

"I will," he growled, "when the time is right. Until then…"

"Hey," I said, holding up both hands. "Far be it from me to get in the middle of you two's marital issues. My lips are sealed."

Ptolemy looked like he was satisfied, and left room, stepping only slightly aside to allow the second figure into the room. I blinked twice before speaking: the newcomer didn't look like any priest I had ever seen. Most of them dressed in gaudy or dark robes that screamed their opulence or mystery, respectively. The figure in front me, however, was clad in a simple pair of leather worker's pants and a black shirt. Aside from the tall white collar around his neck, he could have passed through any crowd on Omega unnoticed.

"Father Ignatius?" I asked slowly, and the Earther nodded.

"The very same, sir. You are… _Haterer_ Emrys, I presume?"

" _Haty-a_ ," I corrected, but waved aside his apology. "But the fancy Egyptian titles weren't my idea. I'd much rather you just called me Khentu, or Khen."

"Alright then, Khen," Ignatius smiled affably.

"Forgive the formal summons," I sighed, "I would have visited _you_ to thank you in person for, um… _funding_ my medical procedures. But as you can see," I tapped the metal brace around my left leg. "I'm still not quite up to 100%."

"That's quite alright, Khen," Ignatius replied immediately, holding up a hand. "Then allow me to say that I am very glad to see you back on your feet and back on Doru. You have had the prayers of many supporting you through your trials."

"Um… thanks, I think," I acknowledged uneasily.

"It is I who should be thanking _you_ , my son," the priest shrugged. "Your brother generously gave us permission to set up our orphanage in the warehouse. It was only a matter of contacting the Holy Office back on Earth, and convincing them that this was the best way to ensure that our presence on Omega continued… non-violently."

"Well, whatever you did, I… owe you a lot," I nodded, offering a bottle before pausing. "I don't suppose your priestly vows allow you to drink, do they?"

"Of course they do," Ignatius smiled again, taking the bottle from my hand. "My faith forbids _drunkenness_ , but not alcohol."

"Ignatius," I stated slowly, surprised by this priest for the second time in as many minutes, "I'm liking you more and more. Your health."

The two of us clicked bottles, and I saw him savor the taste of the Oma Kerr Red.

"So," I said slowly, "You were a gang member?"

"Pardon?" he asked, his hand freezing in place.

"The red '10th' on your neck," I pointed. "Your white collar covers most of it up, but it's still there."

A hand went up to cover it instinctively, but then slowly lowered as he regarded me more sharply than before.

"Ninety-nine out of a hundred Earthers wouldn't have lasted a week on Omega," I continued, as if quoting an actual stastistic instead of something I'd made up on the spot. "and you've been here six months now. You acted swiftly and decisively to occupy a _non-aligned_ warehouse, and then just as quickly contacted the nearest gang to barter for protection."

I took another sip of my beer. "That either makes you the _luckiest_ son of a bitch in the _history_ of bitches, or somebody with knowledge of how gangland warfare and territory works."

"10th Street Reds," he answered. "An Earth gang: a lifetime ago."

I didn't think the Earther looked _that_ much older than me, but then again, maybe it was the soft living on Earth.

"What drove you to get religion?" I asked.

"Ahhh," he said, taking a sip of his own, "That is a long story."

 _One I'm not telling here_ , went unsaid.

"So," I shrugged, taking another sip, deciding to move the conversation along. "An orphanage on Omega…"

"It's gone well so far," he smiled. "A half-dozen children off the streets, and we've been fairly unmolested. After all, who can object to someone taking care of children?"

"Well, that's what I called you here to talk about," I stated slowly, standing to my feet and waving the priest over to a nearby table. I flicked on the holo-projector and Ignatius' eyes lifted slightly in surprise.

"Little Egypt," he said admiringly, looking down at the displayed territory of the Blood Arrows. "This enclave is Eclipse and…. here are the Consortium… and over there is the beginning of the White Tigers' territory."

"Right," I confirmed, gesturing to an area on the map. "Used to be, _this_ was Jackal territory, here were the Vipers, and so on. But now, thanks to my brother's and father's reorganization efforts," I clicked the screen again, and the entire area was highlighted red, "All the sub-gangs will share Little Egypt, dividing the various patrol or protection duties among themselves."

"Ahh," Ignatius nodded understandingly, "Which means the Jackals and their… _unique_ religion," he said tactfully, "will now have religious jurisdiction over the _entirety_ of Little Egypt?"

"And they likely _will_ object to any priest of _any_ other religion practicing within our territory, no matter now magnanimous his goals," I said hesitantly.

"So what do you propose?" Ignatius asked.

"I propose you keep those mechs of yours on a constant patrol from now on," I answered, "And go with a 'shoot-first-ask-later' policy. As I said before, I feel like I owe you one: they come knocking or hurt any of your kids, you come find me. And I'll… have a conversation with them. Maybe you actually being _from_ the 'sacred homeworld' will you win you some points with them. Just tell them you've actually _seen_ the Pyramids and they may fall down at your feet."

"I see," the Earther nodded, and I could see the wheels in his mind turning. "I do appreciate the warning, Khen, and the support. Hopefully the former will be paranoia, and the latter will be unnecessary. But then again, my son, never underestimate the power of the Church militant."

"I'll… do that," I answered, having no idea what that sentence meant exactly. "I'm afraid that's all the time I have, Ignatius, as I'm called away on other business."

"Of course," Ignatius nodded, finishing the rest of his beer. "Well, it was very good to meet you in person, Khen. And you ever feel in the mood, you're more than welcome to stop by the Orphanage of St. Dismas."

"I will," I said, taking the offered hand. He seemed confused when I grabbed it by the wrist, but it was probably an Earth/Omega thing. As soon as he left, Laila ducked her head in.

"They're waiting on you, Khen."

"Right," I answered her, reaching for my helmet. It still didn't feel quite like my old one had, but then again… this was Omega. We made do with what we've got.

"Let's get this shit done."

* * *

 **Chosen Heir**

 _(Ptolemy Emrys)_

 **Date: 11/15/2184**

 **Location: Mentu Training Ground, Little Egypt, Doru District**

" _Move up_! _Advance dammit!_ "

A rifle round whined by my helmet as I slammed into cover. I choked back another curse as two more Vipers were highlighted red on the on my HUD, marking them 'dead', while my wife and her cadre continued to push forward, heavy shields raised, the steel and ceramic plates sparking as shots peppered them all the way forward.

I smiled grimly as I took stock of the situation so far, processing my little brother's tactics: he didn't have the numbers or the equipment to take us on in a head-on match. We had won the first two matches easily, as Isola's armored units stormed their strongpoints as my squads held them down with overwhelming cover fire.

Then their tactics had shifted.

Instead of defending positions to the last, the Hounds had given way to our offensives, leaving our heaviest units with nothing at which to shoot. Then suddenly one of his asari would come into our support units with a biotic charge, or Laila would emerge at the head of a hidden unit to seize our 'base' and claim a victory.

That was how they had won the past two rounds. Our heavies were exhausted by now, and I was beginning to realize the drawbacks of being heavily-armored hulks in the crowded streets of Omega.

"Shift left!" I called out, marking the two or three figures moving in that direction. "They're trying to flank you!"

Isola activated the jump-jets in her boots, sending her armored frame vaulting twenty feet forward in a single bound, smashing through a wall made of aluminum siding and pallets. The impressive charge revealed…

Only two fighters, quickly marked 'dead' by the training VI.

"That doesn't make sense," I muttered, half to my wife and half to myself. "Where is the rest of the-?"

The scene of ozone filled my nostrils, and I flared a biotic barrier of my own just in time to meet a blue streak of light coming in from the right. An asari figure straightened, blue tendrils of dark energy swirling around her wrists.

 _Wasilla_.

A flurry of biotics-reinforced attacks unleashed, with my own barriers barely fending her off. I winced as a leg slammed into my side, but then was rewarded with a grunt of pain as I sent a jab of my own in return, but then felt a stab of pain as my implant spiked. I felt more than heard the rumble as my vanguard came charging back to assist. And then, just as suddenly, there was a blue flash of light, and my fist swung at open air. Then there was a blaring claxon, and a computer-generated voice blared, "MATCH TERMINATED. VICTORY, HOUNDS."

I whirled to see Khentu leaning against the wall in the rear of the area we had set aside for a training ground, waving. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath: It had been a _double_ feint: when Wasilla had attacked from the right, all of my units had shifted that direction, assuming the leftward movement had been merely a decoy. Only now did I realize that he had to have accompanied them in order to get behind us and "capture" our base, winning the round.

Again.

I lifted a hand and waved Khentu over, taking several breaths to reign in my own frustration and disappointment as the two teams gathered in the center. To my relief, the general atmosphere was one of light-hearted joviality, as the various squads were mocking or praising each other's actions in the previous rounds. One look at my wife, however, was enough to tell that she was _not among_ those taking this light-heartedly.

"OK," I breathed, once conversation had subsided to a dull roar, "So what have we learned from this?"

"That your brother has trained his people to fight without honor," Isola growled, looking like she was still contemplating using her _real_ spear on Khentu, rather than practice weapons that had been issued.

Khentu, on the other hand, just smiled and shrugged. "Hey, welcome to Omega, sweetheart."

I reached out a hand and gripped my wife's shoulder as she started to move forward. She shot me a look of daggers but sat back down.

"Your vanguard is still too heavily-focused on closing to melee range," Laila offered before Khentu could gloat further. "All we need to do is fall back and move around to attack you from behind."

Isola nodded at the more practical feedback, and then turned back towards me. "We should coordinate our support units to fan out and act as flanking guards."

"Or we could set them in front to act as skirmishers," I nodded, "Use them to drive the defenders together, just in time for the heavies to come in and clean house."

"That is what you did the first two rounds," Wasilla agreed. "Honestly, we were surprised you switched tactics."

I saw my wife flush a darker shade of red beneath her olive complexion. The reason for the shift had come from her complaints that I had been keeping her squads in reserve, and therefore they had been 'deprived of their share of glory.'

"And your units are too lightly-armored to offer effectual resistance if the enemy gets too close," I continued, changing the focus of the conversation.

"Well," Khentu replied sheepishly, "we weren't planning on letting anyone get that close to us."

"Irrelevant," I shook my head. "This is Omega: someone is going to come around a corner, through a wall, or through the gods damned ceiling. Your people need to either spec into heavier armor or need to do a _lot_ of training on how to bring down a heavy."

"Right then," my wife said, pivoting and taking two paces away from the group. "Who's up first?"

"You mean _right now_?" one of the Hounds asked incredulously.

"No time like the present," Khentu spoke up. "And let's not lose sight of the larger goal here, people: kicking the Jackals' asses next week!"

Laughter arose from the entire group. However respected they were in the street, the priests' 'holier-than-thou' attitudes hadn't won them many friends or support among the rank and file of the Blood Arrows, an attitude I was pleased to see my brother taking advantage of in order to convince exhausted fighters that yet _more_ training was necessary.

"First things first," Isola said, assuming a ready position. "Wasilla, attack from whatever direction you think is best."

Wasilla stole a glance to my brother, who shrugged in reply. Slowly, she made her way around to stand directly behind Isola's large armored exo-suit, before charging in. Isola simply leaned forward and shot out a foot, knocking the asari back on her ass, as laughs and sympathetic groans rose from the Vipers and Hounds, respectively.

"Common mistake," Isola stated, offering a massive hand to the asari, who waved it aside as she regained her feet. "Any armor worth its scrap will be equipped with rear-view cameras."

"Probably not on Omega," my brother objected, and was rewarded with an icy glare from Isola. "But… it's better to assume they have it," he added wisely.

"You'll live longer that way," I agreed.

"Now then: blind spots," Isola continued. "Tarquin, Arthur!"

Two Vipers shot to their feet at their commander's voice.

"Pattern 5," she barked. Both men assumed positions at 45-degree angles behind her. "Now, watch closely. The first to do is…"

I stepped away as my wife and her'volunteers' went on to demonstrate the best way to cripple one of the heavy suits. Of course, being Vipers, it mostly involved jamming blades into joints and weak points in the armor at point-blank range. When I reached what I deemed a safe distance away, I slowly sat down, allowing myself to wince openly as the ringing in my ears changed pitch.

"Your amp again?"

I whirled to see my half-brother coming around the corner, concern on his face.

"How the leg?" I asked, gesturing to the heavily-reinforced limb.

Khentu shot me a look that let me know he didn't appreciate my dodging of his question, but gave a wince and a groan of his own as he sat down beside me.

"Worse than I hoped," he confessed. "Better than I feared."

"And the hand?"

Khentu lifted his left hand to show the metal inserts standing in for the missing two fingers.

"Can't even tell the difference, can ya?" he joked lightheartedly.

"Look at us," I chuckled along with him, "A pair of broken-down fighters, tasked with leading those poor bastards out there to glory."

" _You're_ tasked with leading them," Khentu corrected, "I get to sit back, point and laugh when you fail."

"Fuck you."

"Nope, that's your wife's job now."

* * *

 **Broken Vessel**

 _(Laila Adonis)_

 **Date: 11/16/2184  
Location: The Blue Haven, Doru District, Omega**

"So why da devil are we here, instead o' the Black Pyramid?"

"Neutral ground," I explained. "Yeva T'Moran and her bondmate have been on Omega for nearly five decades. They've seen gangs come and go, but they remain."

"Takes ingenuity and tenacity," Khentu nodded beside us, handing the red-haired human with us another bottle of Thessian beer. "Just like this sheep-fucker here."

Malcolm Donahue grinned widely at the insult before opening the bottle with his teeth, belching loudly and toasting us. "Aye, laddie, me and me lads'll work wi' ye, but ya father and ya brother are a bit too fond o' the idea o' being living gods fo' me liking, ye ken?"

I shot a glance over at Khentu, having been utterly unable to follow the accent; Donahue was an Earther, from somewhere called 'Scotland,' Khentu had said. Khentu nodded to let me know he could.

"That and, with ya brother's reorganizin'," the fiery-haired human continued, "you cannae swing a dead cat in Little Egypt noo wi'oot running into one o' ya damn Jackals mattering on about yer… _weird_ religion."

" _Their_ weird religion," Khentu corrected. "We'll do our best to stay clear of those black-robed crazies."

"Hence whey we be drinkin' dis blue-skin piss, instead o' taking yer head wi a claymore!" cackled Donahue. "Yoo Hounds proved yer mettle, and the Hellions will _join_!"

He held up his bottle, and the Hellion members in the brothel/bar cheered in agreement. The room resumed its dull roar, and I moved tactfully away as Donahue launched into another far-fetched story that Khentu diplomatically pretended to listen to and believe with equal fervor. Malcolm Donahue and his gang had been mostly human, with only a few turians and batarians mixed in. Perhaps the most out of character was the Krogan female that had been in their ranks, now standing in the corner, keeping a tactical eye on the room.

 _A Krogan in the Blood Arrows_ , I shook my head in thought. _Khen, you really know how to annoy your father._

I didn't expect her to stay long, not with the strong anti-alien sentiments in Little Egypt, but then again, she _was_ a krogan: she might stick around just _because_ she wasn't wanted, or because she was _looking_ for a fight. From what little I knew about krogans, it was at least a possibility.

A hand snaked around my waist, and a sloppy kiss was applied to my neck. The drunken giggle informed me of who it was before I even turned my head to see Wasilla lean shakily against me.

"Hey."

"You're drunk," I chuckled, reaching a hand out to steady her.

"And you are… booty-ful. No, be-YEW-tiful," she blinked, enunciating each word carefully. "I'm serious."

"You always are," I nodded, allowing her to nestle her head on my shoulder.

"You are the _strongest_ person I've ever met, Laila," she stated, and the drunken slur was suspiciously gone from her voice. "I mean, none of this would have been _possible_ without you."

"We're not out of danger yet," I warned. "Ptolemy's reforms of the Blood Arrows are only going to make it harder for non-human members, once the Jackals spread their spirits-damned _ridiculous_ religion around the station."

"You _worry_ too much," Wasilla crooned, and her hips were grinding against mine. "Always worried about the rules."

"And you don't worry about the rules at all," I shook my head, looking around for Khentu for backup. My search was rewarded with the sight of him and Donahue already half-naked, three asari maidens descending on the two humans with predatory instincts. In fact, while I had been lost in my thoughts, the room had swiftly shifted from a drunken party into an orgy of sweaty bodies. The pheromones in the room were _palpable_ , and it was suddenly growing difficult to form coherent thoughts.

 _Almost like Yeva is lacing the ventilation ducts with Blue Sand_ , the still-functional part of my mind told me. _Smart business move… for a brothel, anyway._

"So," Wasilla purred, "Remind me, Laila: what are the _rules_ concerning… fraternization?"

She had backed me against a wall at some point, and she was pulling her shirt off over her head. Her hands were on my wrists, guiding them to her crest, and down along her hips. I cast my gaze down her chest and took in the sight of her body's curves and the scars running down her hips. Each one was a different story, a different fight, or a different life.

 _Her fringe…crest though,_ my drugged mind distracted me. _And those narrow hips…_

"Honestly," I said slowly, my mouth going dry for some reason. "I can't remember any…"

"That's my girl."

"I'm not your…"

And then her lips were on mine, and soft hands were encircling my hips, pulling me closer.

" _Fuck it."_

"As you command," Wasilla purred lower, and then I realized that I had been speaking my thoughts out loud.

The next several hours were a blur, with drug-addled images of naked bodies and amorous groans filling my conscious and subconscious mind. I had a vague mental picture of Khentu kissing one side of my neck, and Wasilla on the other.

 _Finally._

 _Wait, what? I'm not attracted to Khen like that!_

 _I'm your subconscious, honey. Believe me, you are._

 _Spirits damn it._

Unfortunately for us, a mere six hours passed before a horrific shriek began to rise from every intercom in the room, the station's general alarms howling that it was under attack.

* * *

 **Author's Note: All the best-laid plans of Pharaohs and politics... and along comes a krogan-sized monkey wrench to mess up all of Ptolemy's great plans for 'United Space Egypt.'**

 **Full thanks and recognition to** Katkiller-V **, for the edits and for the last line of the chapter, taken verbatim from Chapter 38 of Another Realm: ****Einherjar.**

 **As always,** **your thoughts/ suggestions/ constructive criticisms are welcome in the review section below! To see that someone took the time to leave their thoughts always means a lot to me!**

 **ROCK ON, my friends!**

 **-Tusken1602**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

BJ Hanssen: Well, you're half-right: the Hounds and Vipers are not on the BEST of terms, but the two brothers are holding everything together so far.

Draco Oblivion: Ptolemy? Leave well-enough alone? Surely.

seabo76: Well, you know how much I LOVE end-chapter bombshells... :P

EE-RAH!


	16. Interlude: The Emperor's Arrival

**Broken Vessel**

 _(Laila Adonis)_

 **Date: 11/17/2184**

 **Location: Doru Docks, Doru District, Omega**

* * *

Hierarchy authors had written literally _thousands_ of books on the Krogan Wars, and the various battles the Legions had fought; both victories and defeats. They had all portrayed the Krogan as ruthless and reckless enemies, overrunning Turian positions by sheer force and numbers. According to them it was only after the salarians had crippled their population that they had been pushed back and only then through several decades of constant war.

While I had no doubt that there was an element of truth to that argument, both I and anyone else who had fought Krogan since could have told those 'historians' that the rest of it was sheer and utter varren-shit. What they called ruthlessness was cold and calculated risk assessment. What they called recklessness was just a departure from any semblance of turian tactics; sacrificing their weak units to identify weak points in the enemy line, and then smashing those weak points like a warhammer.

"Get your people on the right," Khentu clasped a hand on Malcolm Donahue's shoulder. "Flank the sons of bitches."

"Hellions, with me!" the brawny human called out, our latest assimilated gang breaking off, weapons in hand. The Hounds were making their way through a sea of panicked civilians, arms and armor still being locked into place. A few of the frantic refugees had been seized and an explanation demanded. As near as we could figure, Krogan ships were coming out of FTL and landing troops all over the station.

"They never would have dared if Aria was still on-station," Wasilla grunted as she pulled her helmet over her crest.

"I don't think for a second that their timing was coincidence," I nodded, triple-checking my SMG. A low _boom_ in the distance informed us that we were headed in the right direction; information that was confirmed only a moment later by the giant explosions that could now be seen in startling clarity.

"Break off!" Khentu called out over the radio, his helmet now in place. His new armor wasn't quite as heavy as the one lost down on Gozu, but it more or less matched. The helmet was particularly distinctive, with the welded steel rods supposed to resemble a turian's fringe arcing in a very impressive-looking display of command, at least to any Turian. "Waz, go high. Laila, with me."

"Acknowledged," I called out, double-checking my shotgun one last time as I plunged through a column of black smoke after him.

The sight that greeted us gave even the most seasoned veterans among us pause. Rather than try and land troops at the Doru Docking Yards, the Krogan had simply _crashed_ several smaller shuttles into the areas just beyond them, effectively trapping the Brotherhood and Blood Arrows defending there, but leaving the docks themselves undamaged and clear for incoming troop transports. It made a sort of brutal, ends-justify-body-count Krogan logic.

But it wasn't Krogan who were running back and forth across from us. At a glance, I could see largely human or batarian figures dashing from cover to cover, trying to hold off the reinforcements pouring towards them. Their armor was a drab grey or brown, but all had a distinctive red emblem painted onto their helmets or breastplates.

"Scarlet Tears!" I called out, raising a shotgun to cover Khentu's advance.

"Take them!" he called, and the Hounds swarmed forward. We were more lightly armored than the other Blood Arrows already here, but that worked to our advantage: we could cover more ground faster, and we quickly closed the distance between us and the Blood Pack's allies.

As they focused more and more of their fire upon us, they never saw Waz's group making their way to the high ground, or Donahue's Hellions flanking them. Not until it was too late. With their signature wild whoops, the Hellions came on at a run, often tackling the Tears members to the ground, the firefight quickly devolving into several rolling, cursing, grunting scuffles, settled with armored fists and jagged knives. Here and there, we moved forward to put a bullet between a Scarlet Tear that seemed to be getting the upper hand of one of the fights, or just clubbing them over the head with whatever came to hand: rocks, rifle butts, pipes, you name it. Within seconds, the fight was over.

"Push on, you mangey curs!" Khentu called out, cutting the exuberant cheers short. "Do you want to give them all day to plug this gap? We cut them off from reinforcements, we'll pick the rest of the fuckers apart piecemeal! To the docks!"

We set off at another careful run. We had punched a hole in the Tears' perimeter, and we were going to make the most of it. With a few short barks, Khen had sent Donahue left and Waz right, to roll up the Tears' line and enlarge the hole we had made. I found myself leading one of the advance squads as we pushed forward. Holding up a hand, I brought us to a full stop at one of the corners. Stealing a glance, I had just enough time to see a flash of metal before a round impacted the concrete next to my head.

"Hey! Arrows!" I called out, "Blood Arrows! Spirits damn you!"

No other shots followed, and I stole another quick glance. A group of Brotherhood fighters were cautiously standing up from the rubble, guns at the ready. I pushed off the wall, my hands held wide.

"'Bout time you guys got here," one of the Brotherhood Turians chirped. The tension eased, and the rest relaxed, ever so slightly.

"Better late than never," Khentu said, stepping past me. "Who is Eldest here?"

"Um, I think that's me," one of the Brotherhood stated slowly, stepping forward. "Everyone above me is dead, so…"

"Aren't you the lucky bastard? Congratulations on your promotion," Khentu said dryly. "What's the situation?"

"The situation is that we've all been getting our collective asses kicked," the Brother retorted. "More and more ships keep coming in, and the station's gun emplacements don't seem be able to keep them off us. It's been everything we've been able to do to… LOOK OUT!"

As if to illustrate his point at that precise moment, a Blood Pack ship cruised overhead. From it, tiny dots could be seen falling from it.

"What the…?"

"FIND COVER!" Wasilla called out, recognizing what the dots were before any of us did. "IT'S A KROGAN FUCKING AIRDROP!"

With a blindingly bright flare of biotics, each of the dots turned into a Krogan warrior, each one creating a miniature crater as they landed from their impossibly-high jump. But these were not just any Krogan: Krogan dwarf most species on any given day. These were giant berserkers, hulking monsters with wild eyes, stupid with blood rage.

People started dying, quickly, nosily and messily. I heard Lydia Chang let out an exclamation beside me that sounded like someone had punched her in the stomach. But when I turned to look, she was no longer at my left elbow, but three feet back, pinned by a Graal spike to the wall. With a supernatural force of will, she lifted her rifle and held down the trigger until the life left her eyes.

"Fall back! Fall back!" I heard Khetu yell, and a grenade was hurling through the air at the closest Krogan. The monstrosity actually reached out a hand…

…and caught the damned thing in a clenched fist. There was a muffled _whomph_ as the grenade detonated, and orange blood began to seep from between the Krogan's fingers. And then the fucker _clapped_. A massive biotic shockwave knocked all of us back on our asses.

"Oh, _fuck,"_ I heard someone say, then I realized it was me.

The following hours were a blur. We fought, fired, and fell back, just fire, fight, and fall back again. I remember the feeling of giddy relief when one of the Krogan finally went down under a hail of bullets and grenades, proving that at lease these monsters weren't invincible. But he was just one, and he brought down a score of Blood Arrows down to the ancestors with him.

I turned and slammed a punch into a Scarlet Tear coming around the corner, feeling his unprotected throat yield under my armored fist. He went down, and I caught up his rifle, folding my _very-_ overheated shotgun to the small of my back to cool down. As I laid down cover fire and watched Jesse and Khentu sprint past me, one phrase kept running through my head:

" _This is going to be a shit day."_

* * *

 **Chosen Heir**  
 _(Ptolemy Emrys)_

 **Date: 11-20-2184  
Location: Golden Pyramid, Doru District**

"What is the situation?"

"They've beaten us back to Stone Street," Abdul stated. I marveled at the complete absence of panic or concern in his voice, the strain of the past few days completely absent in his tone, as if he was telling Father what shift it was at the moment. "The markets are completely overrun."

"While they're in control of the Docks, they can ferry in reinforcements at will," Nobu reported gravely. "We have no word from the Eight-Zero Demons or from the Talons. For we all we know, they may have already been massacred."

"What word from Afterlife?" Father asked, tapping a clenched fist on the table in frustration. _His_ voice was very much laced with concern and panic. "

"We've lost contact." Abdul said simply. "The last word was that all gang and mercenary leaders were to gather there to coordinate a defense under Aria's people."

Which wouldn't do us any good at all, since we were increasingly cut off and any kind of counter-attack would be hours or even an entire shift away. Assuming that whoever showed up at Afterlife managed to actually put together a unified army to begin with.

"Suggestions?" Father demanded, his fist tapping several more times in a nervous tic.

"Retreat," I answered honestly. "We place charges in the buildings behind us and fall back into the warrens. If we can save what's left of the Arrows, and link up with the Consortium, we'll be in a prime position to join the counter-attack when it happens."

Abdul was nodding, but Nobu and Father stared at me like I had taken leave of my senses.

"The Consortium is just as likely to kill us as the Blood Pack," Nobu growled.

"We all have a common enemy now," I shrugged. "And they don't have the numbers to fight off the Pack either."

"I will _not_ crawl hat-in-hand to the squints!" Father hissed. "I will _not_ abandon my kingdom. We will fight, to the last street, to the last shot, to the last man if that's what it takes!"

"Your _kingdom_?" I repeated incredulously. "Father…"

" _Pharoah,"_ Mentu Emrys snarled.

"No!" I snarled back, feeling my own anger rise in my chest. "Here, in this room, with just us, it's 'Father.' And it's time to be fucking realistic. We stay, we die. We fight, we die. The _only_ way we get any of _our_ people out, people who _do call you_ 'Pharoah,' is by swallowing our pride, taking the losses, and start making plans on how to _re-take_ our home. _Later_."

"Mentu," Abdul purred as Father opened his mouth to speak. "The boy does have a point. Khen and Quan's people are _dying_ out there, buying us time to have this meeting. The Pack _thinks_ they have us overrun, and we can use that to our advantage."

Father paused, obviously much more willing to listen to Abdul's veiled truths than my overt ones.

"Continue," he nodded.

"We send runners to the Connies now, inviting them to a truce and to send up their fighters to our fortified positions. They'll be willing to do that; like Tol said, we have a common enemy now, and they'd much rather keep the fighting in Little Egypt's streets and out of their own territory. Then we feign a full-on panic, and our front lines leg it back to… these points," Abdul drew a line almost back at the Warrens. "The Krogan will think they've won, that this is their moment of triumph. They'll come on at a run."

"And then we blow the charges," I nodded, seeing where Abdul was going.

"It will _eviscerate_ their vanguard," Abdul nodded. "And just in time for our friends from the Consortium to reinforce us for a counterattack. We keep them on their back heel, and we could drive them all the way back to the Docks, or to at least the markets at a bare minimum. We could hold that line easily with the Connies help."

I nodded, slowly. It was riskier and more complicated than my 'pull-back-and-defend' plan, but it was a reasonable compromise between that and Father's moronic 'die-with-honor' plan.

"Nobu?" Father looked up. "Send runners through the Warrens. Tell Hederas that I'm willing to let bygones be bygones, and further negotiations will occur once we survive today."

"As Pharaoh wills," the giant bowed and left the room, leaving the door open behind him, and then Father turned back to the 3D projection of Little Egypt in front of us.

"Abdul, see if you can reach Rasa's squad and…"

We heard the impact and felt the red mist cover the room long before we heard the actual sound of the gunshot, the sniper round traveling much faster than the speed of sound. Abdul and I were already on the ground before my Father's mangled corpse was. I already knew Mentu Emrys was dead before a cursory glance showed me the gaping hole in his chest. I had no idea what kind of rifle was capable of that, but it was not one I was going to stick around and find out.

"Where?" I shouted. Abdul was already typing frantically, the holoprojector already drawing up a preliminary return trajectory.

"There," Abdul panted, keeping his body as much behind the projector as he could. "Only possibility."

I risked a glance and winced. The building in question was… _impossibly_ far away, but he was right: The Golden Pyramid was the tallest building on this block. It was the only building tall enough in order for someone to have the angle required to shoot into this room. It was also squarely in Blood Pack-controlled territory.

"Right then," I stated, my mind already drawing up a dozen ideas and possibilities. "If they've got someone who can snipe _that well_ , then we've even less time than I thought."

Abdul nodded once.

"Have Quan and Nobu herd our people to the Warrens," I continued, "The Krogan won't be able to maneuver in the tight spaces and narrow corners, and their numbers will count for shit. We can hold them at the entrances."

"As you command… _Pharaoh_." Then the little man was out of the room, skirting the edges of the room and staying below waist-height. The title hit me like a slap to the face. I was _Pharaoh_ of the Blood Arrows now, roughly about a decade ahead of the rough timeline Isola and I had drawn up.

" _If you want to make the gods laugh_ ," I muttered, " _Tell them your plans._ "

My father would never fling that proverb in my face again. He would never fling _any_ proverb in my face again, for that matter. I was surprised at how much of my mind was telling me to grab the body and drag it out of here; to keep it safe until it could be burned on a pyre with honor, sent down to the Deadlands for judgement before Osiris and the Devourer. A product of my religious upbringing, I had no doubt. But thankfully, the rational part of my mind kicked in, and I forced myself to think clearly. I brought my Omni-Tool up.

"Khen?" I asked. "Khen, can you hear me?"

" **Tol?"** Came my brother's voice, and I fought back a tide of unexpected emotions. **"What's the situation?"**

"We're pulling everyone back to the Warrens," I told him. "Get your people back to the Armory."

 **"Ummm… can't,"** his said, voice quieting. " **I just heard back from Donahue: The Pack have unloaded a fuck-ton of vorcha to reinforce them, apparently. They've just overrun the Black Pyramid. We're cut off from you, trying to make our way around."**

I bit back an audible course, still crouched behind the metal desk where I had dived for cover. Another thousand plans coursed through my mind, each one more desperate than the last.

"No," I said finally. "Get your people, and as many civilians as you can to the Lifts. Get down to Cala and tell Eldest Brother Kith to get his people in gear."

 **"Father won't like that…"** Khentu grunted, but it wasn't in a contradicting way.

I paused, then told him. "Father's dead, Khen. I'm Pharaoh, now."

I could almost _hear_ the news hit Khentu, and there was a long moment of silence before I heard him lean away from his microphone and yell, " **Laila! Jesse! Get to the Lifts! Get to the Lifts** _!"_

"I'm sorry, little brother," I said slowly, knowing what turmoil he must be going through right now. Khentu had always been the more emotional of the two of us, even when we were growing up.

 **"Shut up and stay alive, you big idiot,"** Khen's voice was a snarl that anybody but me would have mistaken for anger. _I don't want to lose you too,_ was laced in the brotherly conversation to which only the two of us were privy.

I cut the connection. No further words were needed between the two of us. We would have time to talk, later. Now it was time to fight and stay alive. I followed Abdul's example on how to leave the room, slamming the heavy metal door behind me. As I made my way down the stairs, two of my Vipers saluted.

" _Pharaoh_."

I nodded back. Apparently, Abdul was already spreading the unfortunate news. I started to move past them, but an arm was cast in my way.

"The sniper, sir," the hapless Blood Arrow explained. "He's… brought down eight or nine others already. We haven't been able to get a bead on him."

I looked out on the courtyard and saw the scattered bodies showing the guard was right. I gritted my teeth, but then a massive exo-suit landed in the courtyard, shield raised high, and Isola opened fire with her rifle on the distant tower.

"Move!" she barked, and a shot sparked across her cast-iron shield. With the guards on either side of me, we sprinted across the open ground, my wife's massive suit giving us the cover we needed. We made it to the outer wall, breaking the line of sight between us and that infernal sniper. A figure in white and black armor slammed into the wall next to me.

 _"Divine One_ ," Quan, High Priest of the Jackals panted, "We have a problem."

"We have several problems, Quan," I grinned mirthlessly, "Take your pick."

"A wing of Scarlet Tear shuttles ran themselves into the ground near Thebes," he explained. "We're cut off from the Warrens from here."

"Krogan?" I asked.

Quan shook his head. "But they seem to be driving for the crash site pretty hard, even if we depart this very moment I don't know if we can beat them there."

"Trying to complete our encirclement," Isola nodded, and then turned to me. "We can pull what fighters that remain back to this compound. Give me a few rockets, and I'll put that tower down. They won't have the numbers to overwhelm this strong of a position."

"Not right now." I sighed and shook my head. "But then they'd be free to take their sweet time to land more troops and equipment. Or worse, they could simply surround us… and then ignore us, waiting for us to run out of food, water, and ammunition."

There was a growing crowd around us now: survivors in the armor of all four sub-groups of the Blood Arrows: The Jackals and their ridiculously-impractical white armor, the Vipers in their gold and red, and I even saw a few tan and black-patterned Hounds.

And they were all looking at me.

"I will not wait here to be killed at any Krogan's leisure!" I caught up my rifle, double-checking the magazine and the heat-sink, and then looked back up at the crowd, raising my voice to carry as someone handed me my helmet. "The Devourer waits for us in the Underworld, my brothers! I say we make him wait… a little longer!"

A ragged cheer erupted, and we surged forward, making towards the Warrens. Everyone knew we _had_ to break through. It was that or die where we stood, hunted out of our own homes and streets like vermin.

"Wholly together now: Charge!"

* * *

 **Omega's Child**  
 _(Khentu Emrys)_

 **Location: Doru-Cala Lifts, Omega**

"The lift is overloaded!" The one-legged salarian punctuated his words with a burst from his submachine gun, momentarily shifting the throng crowd pressing to enter the lift and its promise of safety.

"If it breaks, then we're stranded here," Barco continued, more calmly. "Then we're _all_ in the deeps."

I nodded at Jesse, and the drell punched the lift controls, slamming the doors shut and sending the next massive load of terrified civilians down to the relative safety of Cala.

"Whatever Brotherhood survivors we sent down first should have been there by now," Barco said in a low voice. "Kith knows exactly what's coming his way."

"He'll accept noncombatants and civilians," I nodded, "his very religion dictates that. But will he be as accommodating when more than fifty armed Hounds showed up on the last lift-load? That's the real question."

"Assuming we survive that long," Barco grunted, leaning back to take the weight off of his prosthetic limb.

I hid a wince at the thought, and the back of my brain once again reminded me that the empty lift coming up from Cala _had not_ brought any Brotherhood reinforcements that I had 'respectfully requested.' Not that I could blame him. Kith wasn't a fool: if he got a handful of reinforcements, well and good, but he wasn't going to waste any more men on Doru than he could.

"Khen! Khen!"

The shout brought me out of my thoughts, I looked up to see a gaggle of _children_ of various species led by…

"Priest," I nodded in curt greeting, but I felt a wave of relief that he had made it out of Little Egypt. "You got all your kids out?"

"By the grace of God, yes," Ignatius nodded, making a strange crossing motion with his hands. "Three of my mechs are down, but we managed to make it to safety."

"Not to put too fine a point on it, Father, but you're pretty fucking far from safety," I shrugged. "I could really use that last mech of yours to help with crowd control, and backup if the Pack manage to get their heads out of their asses and come after us."

Some of the smaller children huddled together in fear, but the older ones scooped them up and looked at the human priest with the hardness that comes from growing up on the streets of Omega. Ignatius hesitated, glancing from the mech, to the children, back to me.

"If you can transfer it to take orders from me," I continued, "I'll make sure that you and your kids are on the next lift down. And if your god pulls off a miracle and we make it all down to Cala alive, you can retake control."

Resolution came into the Earther's eyes, and he turned to the last mech.

"Raphael, alter _Divine Protocol_. Authorization: 'This day is called the Feast of Crispian.'"

The tall mech straightened.

 **"Protocol alteration acknowledged,"** it buzzed. **"Awaiting orders."**

"Transfer Guardian Role from Ignatius, Knight Brother, to individual beside me," Ignatius went on. "Designation: Khentu Emrys."

The head swiveled to regard me, and then the torso moved to face me as well. **"Awaiting orders."**

I exhaled slightly. "Head to the north side of this structure, and stand sentry for any Blood Pack, Scarlet Tear, or vorcha." I glanced at Ignatius, "Can it understand all that?" When the priest nodded, I went on, "Engage with lethal prejudice, and cover the retreat of all friendlies back to this location."

 **"Acknowledged."**

The massive mech _leapt_ into the air, clearing twenty feet in a single bound. I turned back to face the group behind me.

"It's gonna be OK, kiddos," I reassured the frightened faces and terrified glances. "Stick close to Father Ignatius, and you'll be alright."

And then on cue, the Universe, Fate, Destiny, Issus, or whatever was in charge of this fuck-up existence decided to make a liar out of me by sending a massive explosion to take out a section of the wall. A massive Krogan rumbled through, firing blindly with his stupidly-massive shotgun.

"Fuck! HADASI, DRELLA!" The two young asari maidens bounded to my side.

"Stick with them," I said, shoving Ignatius towards the lift. "Get them on the lift and escort them down!"

Hadasi nodded, and then scooped up a sobbing child and moved towards the lift, calling for the others to follow her. Drella held both of their SMGs, scanning for any more targets as she walked backwards at the rear of the group.

By that time, I was already firing shot after shot into the Krogan's armor, sending sparks flying across his faceplate. He bellowed in pain as someone took out one of his eyes, and he lowered his head and _charged_ forward _._ But just then, another Krogan, this one in the tan-and-black armor of the Hounds, drive a fucking _spear_ into the Blood Pack's neck, orange blood spurting as the bigger male collapsed with a choking wheeze.

"Nice one, Chell," I nodded, thoroughly impressed. The female nodded wordlessly at me, and pulled the spear free, collapsing it to store on her back before picking up the fallen warrior's shotgun. She lifted it and blew away two vorcha pouring through the newly-made hole in the wall. I ran up and stole a glance out at the burning streets around us.

More and more giant figures came lumbering down narrow streets, gesturing, cursing, driving and kicking smaller ones before them.

 **"Contact North,"** Laila's voice came over the comms.

 **"Contact South,"** Donahue echoed, almost simultaneously.

"Well, fuck it." I lifted my hand and placed it against my helmet. "All groups, this is Khentu: Foxtrot. I say again, Foxtrot."

That was basically code for 'Shit has hit the fan, get the fuck out', and my people didn't need to be told twice. A claxon sounded to let me know that another lift had arrived to carry more of the _still_ -crowded warehouses' occupants down to safety. The teams I had sent out came in from the two entrances at a run, reinforcing the makeshift, last-ditch-effort barricades we had constructed.

"Everybody on!" I called out. "Barco, herd them in, and yes, it's gonna be fucking overcrowded. We have no choice!"

Barco's lips pursed thinly, but he gave me a nod to let me know he understood. The last of the Doru refugees that had made it to the Lift Station crowded in: parents holding children, friends and loved ones pulling wounded companions to the farthest corners of the lift first.

"Whiz-Bang!" I called out. "Now!"

A human that was naked from the waist up bore all of the tattoos and markings of the Lightning Rods, a gang that, on any other day we'd be shooting on sight. But today, somehow, we were all Omegans, fighting to drive foreign invaders from our home. As shitty and dilapidated as this death-trap was, it was ours, damn it. He pulled out an old-fashioned, honest-to-the-gods whistle out of his back pocket, and blew a succession of short bursts and long, piercing screeches.

At the signal, every friendly gun we had in the place turned and _sprinted_ back towards us, a few of my Hounds, I noticed with pride, turning to cover their companions' retreat with a few short bursts before continuing the retreat. Sure enough, within seconds, lightly-armed but still-deadly vorcha leapt into view. They came after our people at a run, and the two or three of ours who dropped to the ground wounded were literally torn limb-from-limb.

One by one, our people rushed onto the lift, the rest of us giving them as much covering fire as we could. The lift's doorway was wide, but it was a terribly difficult thing firing _at_ two crowds running towards you, and only trying to hit one of them. Suddenly a figure at the very rear whirled around, and Waz sent out a blue shockwave that launched every vorcha near her flying back, tumbling head over heels. Then she turned and flash-stepped into the lift, just as the doors were slamming shut. Laila had been the one unfortunate enough to catch her, the two of them laying on the floor, crushing another half-dozen of the breathless Hounds beneath them.

" _Next time_ ," Laila gasped, panting for each breath, " _You_ command the rear-guard."

"What the hells took you so long?" I grinned back and watched anger and the unadulterated desire to throttle me flash across her face, and I had no doubt she would have done it too, if she hadn't been completely out of breath.

Shots rang out around us as our best shots fired at the doors now high above us. They were being pried apart and vorcha heads could be seen looking down the lift. All we needed was for some cold-blooded bastard to stick his rifle down the shaft and unload. Crowded together as we were, there was no place to take cover.

Suddenly a figure could be seen silhouetted against the red light that filled the lift, growing larger and larger.

"No _way_ ," I heard somebody gasp beside me, but there it was, large as life: one of the vorcha had hurled itself out into the shaft, and was descending towards us. It was probably hopped-up out of its little mind on Black Sand.

 _Or there's a Krogan behind it booting others into the shaft,_ I grunted, and I saw Jesse pick up Waz's rifle, take aim at the falling figure, and fire.

An explosion ripped the red-black darkness above us apart, and there was a screeching groan of tortured metal bending and giving way.

 _Suicide vest_ , I had just enough time to think before there was a deceptively tiny _pop_ , and then the massive lift was free-falling down.

Down…

Down….

Down…

* * *

 **Interlude**

 **Location: the Warrens, Doru District, Omega Station.**

"A valiant effort."

Ganar Yulaz, War Leader of the Blood Pack, and God Emperor of the Second Krogan Empire, stepped over the bodies of the mostly-human gang members that had tried so desperately to break through his lines. A group of these… _Blood Arrows…_ had in fact succeeded in breaking through, one of his war chiefs had told him. But they had been a small percentage of the sea of dead around them.

"Dumbass local fucks." Yulaz frowned as Anad Krom kicked over one of the nearby bodies and the red-armored figure fired two pointless shots from his pistol into the still-warm corpse.

"They did not shirk from their duty," Ganar corrected. "And their attack bought time for their women and children to evacuate. Commendable."

He cocked his massive head at the human assassin, noting something else. "You're wounded?"

Anad dismissed the slight cut on his neck with a shrug, but his lips bared in a hiss of pain at the movement. "Bitch came at me with a _spear._ A fucking _spear._ "

The Emperor turned to look at the figure that Anad had vented his frustration upon. The human female was darker-skinned, and her shredded exo-suit lay not far away, the bodies of three of his Krogan warriors as a testament for how costly it had been to damage it to such a degree. Undaunted, she had shed the suit, taking the relatively-archaic weapon in hand, and engaged the sword-wielding assassin blade-to-blade. His eyebrow ridge lifted; there were few beings he had witnessed that could match the red-armored human before him in hand-to-hand combat, one of the very few reasons he had chosen to keep the otherwise annoying human alive.

"Impressive," he nodded.

"None the less dead for that," Krom replied, and his voice had taken a more lucid tone, and the wild bloodlust faded momentarily from his eyes. Ganar Yulaz said nothing, but stared at the human looking down at the beautiful woman he had killed, the alien's cheek twitching in a rare show of genuine emotion.

"My Emperor."

The moment passed, and Ganar Yulaz turned to the Krogan warchief kneeling in the gore behind him. At his emperor's gesture, the Krogan continued his report:

"The last of the station's guns have fallen silent. Weyrloc Gould requests additional orders."

Yulaz snorted his displeasure. Gould was a good fighter, but he lacked any shred of initiative beyond carrying the orders he was given. It should have been obvious what was needed, and it irked him to have to continue to manage troops that Gould should have well in-hand.

"Have the rest of the fleet land their troops," he commanded. "Move forward to secure the rest of Doru."

He turned to the human assassin.

"Move towards Afterlife," he grunted. "Ensure that the chaos continues at their Central Command Center. Then move to strike the Number Eight Reactor."

The human grinned, and the unstable, reckless abandon was back in the glint of his eyes, and he moved off, gesturing to the mercenaries he had brought with him. Ganar Yulaz sighed and turned back towards his temporary Forward Command Center.

 _Time to get this battle back underway_.

* * *

 **Author's Note:  
Whew, it's been awhile since I had to write a gunfight. The Battle of Omega has begun in earnest, but we'll be seeing it from a MUCH different perspective from here on out.**

 **Thanks to all of you faithful readers for sticking with this story: as long as you keep reading, I'll keep writing. My thanks also to Katkiller-V, for the use of his AR-Universe, and his beta-reading skills. I refuse to lower my standards of writing "just to get a chapter up," and it's readers/reviewers and beta-readers who challenge me to keep up the hard work. **

**As always, your thoughts/ suggestions/ constructive criticism is always welcome in the reviews, or my PMs.**

 **ROCK ON, my friends!**

 **-Tusken1602**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

BJ Hanssen, seabo76 - I think it will be fun! If anything else, I hope it will be different... :)

Lord Schmodder - Katkiller-V's "Another Realm" story lays all the groundwork and universe building. I get the fun job of coming in after the fact and telling the stories of the "lesser known" characters, who have no plot armor at all.

A Plexx, Draco Oblivion - It was a fun scene to write, but you shouldn't mistake this as the beginning of a full-on romantic relationship (yet? lol). What happened was everybody got stupidly-high at a massive orgy. Who knows what happened to who down there? ;)

EE-RAH!


	17. Act 3: The Landing

**Holy Warrior**  
 _(Father Ignatius)_

 **Date: 11/20/2184  
Location: Unknown**

'Chaos' and 'Pandemonium' were two words that seemed to apply themselves more and more to the situation.

The lift, massive as it was, had finally come to a crashing, screeching halt. I had no idea what that Asari… _Wasilla_ , I think her name was, had done with her biotics to slow our deadly freefall into a merely dangerous slide, but whatever it was she was now unconscious. Probably due to overtaxing her natural Asari biotics or so I assumed.

If I needed further proof of our Lord's protection, it came as I took stock of my children's' injuries in the immediate aftermath of the crash: Barnabas's arm appeared broken, and the two young Asari, Drella and Hadasi, my memory prompted, looked dazed and bruised from where they had hit the floor. Hadasi had locked most of us in a biotic stasis seconds before the impact, which more than likely saved our lives. I hugged Tatiana close to me, the child's sobs of terror slowly subsiding, and the death-grip she had on my coat only slightly relaxing as I fixed the splints to the young Turian's arm.

All around us, however, people lay or sat sprawled across the crowded deck. Some were bleeding, others were unconscious, and more than a few lay in positions that made it obvious they would never rise again.

"Drella, Hadasi," I stated, and the two Asari turned at the sound of their names. "Get the children to the back. I must go and do what I can for these poor souls."

They nodded, seemingly relieved to be given a task, and Drella took Tatiana from me, cooing softly to the terrified child. The sight of the two's eyes going black was unnerving for a second, and then I remembered that particular side-effect of Asari mind-melding. Sure enough, Tatiana's screams subsided into quiet whimpers, and she clutched at the young maiden who had been a stranger only a moment ago.

"You lads!" I called to a group of dazed Batarians, "Help me shift these bodies to the far wall."

I had projected as much authority into the words as I could, as if there was no doubt in my mind that they would be obeyed. In response, they slowly moved to follow me as I wrapped my arms around the shoulders of a grey-haired Human who had a shaft of rebar through his chest. I pulled him clear of where he would have been trampled upon, directing the others to line up the dead in an orderly fashion beside him. I crossed the arms and closed the eyes of the luckless Human. I had no idea of his name, or his religion. To me, he was just another soul, now gone unto the judgement of God and the saints.

" _Requiem aeternam dona eis, Dominae_ ," I whispered quietly, making the sign of the cross above the row of now empty soul-shells. _"Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord."_

Thankfully, the dead were relatively few in number. More serious were the dozens suffering from scrapes, bruises, and breaks in varying degrees of seriousness. A Batarian woman named Urfa and I began a rudimentary triage system. Urfa had been one of our near neighbors at the orphanage, and our orphanage had been regular customers of her bakery. Now we set to work on the grisly task of sorting the dazed from the mortally-injured, and trying to determine who could be moved and who could not.

Suddenly, a scream split the air, causing every head to whirl towards the sound. A Human covered in tattoos was struggling with another Batarian woman over a satchel. A knife flashed, but the alien woman hung onto the bag doggedly, blood seeping from the gash on her broad forehead.

"What is the meaning of this?" I demanded, still projecting the authority in my voice.

"Back off, infidel!" the Human hissed, the knife turning to point at me, and I finally recognized him as one of the Jackal priests in the weird proto-Egyptian cult. "Or die with the heathen!"

"We've all just survived a traumatic event, my son," I said slowly, trying to now project calm and rationality upon the scared teenager in front of me. "Our only chance of survival is in us working together…"

"We've been _punished_ by the Gods! Set himself has cursed us!" shrieked the boy, as now he appeared, beneath the ritualistic scarring and crude tattoos. "Our only chance is in killing the heathens to appease-!"

My hands were moving before I was even properly conscious of their doing so, and the knife twisted out of his grasp. The gasp of pain turned into a strangled choking noise as my other hand rose, the knuckles of my fingers driving into his throat to cut off his insane rhetoric. Then a gunshot fired in the glaring red light. A few of the civilians screamed, and then an eerie silence fell, broken only by the choking noises of the young Jackal on the floor.

An armored figure strode slowly forward, stepping over the body of the second Jackal. I was mentally kicking myself for not noticing who had been behind me when Khentu Emrys lowered his pistol and sent a round through the head of the choking figure in front of me. A murmur ran through the crowd: of surprise from most of the Humans gathered, and of approval from the aliens.

"Now," Khentu said slowly, "We've all just lost a lot of people, and I have _no patience_ for any of this shit."

The crowd moved aside slowly. As I looked around, there were enough gang marks around to start three turf wars: Lightning Rods, Targa Horde, the '8-Z' marks of the Eight Zero Demons, and then the various members of the Arrows along with their affiliated groups. But what concerned me more were the civilians. They had no affiliations, but that wouldn't save them if the gangs decided to start a gunfight here and now.

Or if they simply decided they were not worth the bother of caring for.

"Laila," Khentu spoke, and a female Turian appeared next to him. "You and Lyd… _fuck..._ you and Jesse get these people moving clear of the platform."

The Turian nodded, and she and a Drell moved off to obey his orders.

 _Wise,_ I nodded thoughtfully. _Giving the order to aliens, to get the rest of this crowd used to the idea of a Human in charge._

"Now, Barco," Khentu continued, "Any chance of fixing this lift?"

"None at all," came the answer from a Salarian lying by the control panel. I was startled to see one of his legs severed below the knee until a faint spark came when he straightened what remained of the limb.

"I mean, I can fix the controls," the otherwise-tall Salarian shrugged, "but it's the metal work and the gearwork that's shot to hell… literally."

"Anybody think he's lying?" Khentu asked, looking around the circle forming around him. When no one answered, he sighed and went on. "So, we're gonna walk, _all of us together_ , to the next lift over, and try and make our way back up into Kima."

"Through the _Deeps?"_ one of the Batarians hissed. "With the old, the wounded and sick, and _children_?"

"It's a death sentence," someone else murmured.

"Not if we stick together," Khentu shook his head. "Safety in numbers. We look out for each other, and we'll all come through together."

"The hell we will," growled another of the Humans, in the livery of the Hellions. "We ain't risking our necks for no _squawkers_ or _fucking squin…"_

A gunshot interrupted the racial slur as the left side of his face disappeared. The hulking form of a Krogan pulled herself upright from where she had been laying on the ground behind the racist.

"Anybody else have any objections?" What sounded like a feminine voice rumbled in the shocked silence that now fell across the whole group. I raised my eyebrows in surprise: in all my time on Earth and the Citadel, I had never even _seen_ a female Krogan. And now one glared murderously around the circle, _daring_ anyone to answer her, her rounded crest glinting in the sparking light.

No one did.

"Then let's get about surviving today," Khentu nodded. "Turgor, you and your lads are taking point with me. Whiz-Bang, you and the Rods are taking charge of the civilians. Get everyone moving. Father, you're with them. I need to know what we have, food-wise, weapon-wise, the lot."

I started in surprise at being addressed, but quickly moved to join the rest of the mostly Human tattooed crew that began helping the people around us to their feet, and started arranging stretcher parties to carry the most direly wounded.

"What did that Batarian mean, 'Through the Deeps?'" I asked Urfa, helping her lift Wasilla onto a makeshift stretcher.

Her mouth drew into a thin line. "That's where we are, priest," she answered grimly. "We're at the very bottom of Omega: the lowest of the low, otherwise known as The Deeps."

"Why would they think of this as a death sentence?" I asked. "Lack of oxygen? Loss of pressure?"

"That's the thing," the female Batarian shrugged, "Nobody knows. All anyone knows that is that anyone who's ever come down here never makes it up again."

I felt a knot in the pit of my stomach, but I forced it aside as I turned to more pressing issues. A tiny hand at my waist clutched, and I turned to scoop up one of my younger charges, a young Batarian boy who we had named Bartholomew.

 _"Hail Holy Queen,"_ I breathed, the rest of the prayer coming in a torrent:

 _"Mother of mercy, hail, our life, our sweetness and our hope. To thee do we cry, poor banished children of Earth: to thee do we send up our sighs, mourning and weeping in this planet of tears. Turn then, most gracious Advocate, thine eyes of mercy toward us, and after this our exile, show unto us the blessed fruit of thy womb, Jesus. O merciful, O loving, O sweet Virgin Mary._

 _Amen."_

* * *

 **Broken Vessel  
** _(Laila Adonis)_

 **Date: Unknown  
Location: the Deeps, Omega**

"So to the best of our estimates, we've got at least a three-shift walk to the nearest lift, and we've only got food and water for two."

It was a grave council of war that had gathered around Khentu. To be honest, I had no idea how it had ended up that he was still in command of this rag-tag group, of whom the Blood Arrows were really a minority.

Well, I did have a notion: Up on Doru, Khentu had been in command because it had been _our_ territory that we had been fighting in, so it made the most sense, regardless of what gang you belonged to. And now Khentu was riding on the credit he had earned during that battle to continue his command, and the simple fact that nobody else had the credentials or the quad to match him ensured that his command continued. How long that would last was anyone's guess, and I knew Khen realized it.

 _What_ would happen when it ran out, however, was less of a mystery: a bullet to the back of the head. And then we would all die in a pointless free-for-all to determine who was left… and who was dead.

"That's assuming that this level of the Deeps looks _anything_ like Kima," Nakmor Chell spoke up, the female krogan's tone informative, but not challenging.

"Well," Khentu nodded in acknowledgement, "It is an assumption, but it's all we have to go on."

"Kima looks nothing like Gozu," one of the Rods hissed, whose name I couldn't remember, but I knew was one of their stupid nicknames they adopted. "Which in turn looks _nothing_ like Fumi."

"Yes, yes," Khentu hissed back, "We're all well-fucking-aware of the challenges ahead, Whiz, so _now_ is the fucking time to offer _solutions_ , or to shut the fuck up."

Whiz-Bang, _stupid nickname,_ my mind offered, wisely opted for the latter option; if only because like the rest of us, he probably didn't _have_ any solutions to offer. We were stuck in an unmapped area, with limited food, water, and equipment, with more than two dozen unarmed, and otherwise useless, civilians to boot.

Whatever progress we made would be hampered by the wounded we also were carrying with us. And that was also assuming that we _weren't_ going to encounter the rumored creatures or remains of people that lived down here.

"We'll need scouts to go ahead," Turgor ul Hassar said, the senior Targa Horde member taking in a breath through his teeth. "Aria herself sent her entire fucking army down here after _something_ a few months ago., and not all of them came out again."

"That mostly likely means that whatever _was_ down here, Aria's people have dealt with most of them already," Khentu smiled and I recognized it as one of his more forced 'used-aircar-salesmen' grins, "and put the fear of the gods into the rest."

 _Or more likely,_ the pessimistic part of my brain offered, _they realized that the Deeps weren't worth fighting for and pulled out_ , _sealing the tunnels behind them,_ but I continued aloud, "I like the idea of scouts, boss. Can't ever hurt to get some advanced warning in case we _do_ encounter anything."

"Malthus," Khentu said, turning towards the Eight-Zero Demon member. "You've got two snipers among your people. Can you send them, with, say… four of Turgor's people in support? I'll command the first scouting party."

The black- and red-tattooed Salarian nodded wordlessly, and we broke up, headed towards our respective groups.

"Smart to mix up the various gangs," I said quietly, once I judged the others were far enough away. "But we also need to centralize the food and water rations with the main body."

Khen nodded. "To prevent whoever we send out for scouting from just legging it as fast as they can."

"Exactly," I nodded.

"Get on with it, then, but do it quietly," he said. "Don't attract too much attention. And put Ignatius in control of the supplies."

I must have had a questioning look on my face, because he sighed and explained: "He's unaffiliated with any of the gangs, so that'll be a plus. On top of that, he's a priest, so that will mollify the rest."

"We also need to spread out our hardware," Jesse added, "We have some of these _Welles_ carrying four or five weapons, and others with nothing but fists or blades."

"Another good idea," Khen agreed. "Pass the word, but… trained fighters get weapons first. Putting a gun in the hands of a civilian is only a danger to us. That's assuming half of them aren't hiding pistols or knives already."

"I will see it done," the big Drell nodded. "And then, if you'll permit me, _I'll_ take command of the first scouting party."

"No," Khentu shook his head, "I'm going with them. You've still got a concussion," he said as the Drell opened his mouth to protest. "And that broken rib of yours isn't going to be a big help to you either, JJ."

Jesse closed his mouth, and then nodded soberly. "How is Miss Wasilla?" he asked.

Khen clenched his jaw, and, and then shook his head. "Still unconscious. I… I've never seen her expend that much raw biotic power before. If she doesn't wake up soon… I don't know. If we had a fully-trained medic and a fully-equipped med-lab, maybe…"

"But we don't," I cut him off, "And so we can only do what we can for her, and leave the rest of it in the spirits' hands."

Khentu opened his mouth, closed it, and reached for his helmet with a slight shudder.

"You're keeping all of us alive, Khen," I reassured. "Imagine what Turgor or Malthus would have done if they had been in command? Killed and robbed every civilian unfortunate enough to survive the fall, that's what. And _then_ killed each other in ancestors-damned foolishness."

"The holy prophets say," Jesse Jalos added, "that dwelling on what was lost yesterday is folly; look forward to tomorrow's gains."

Khentu reached up, unfastening his helmet and taking several deep breaths. In the low light, I thought I could see tear streaks in the dirt on his cheeks. A lump of emotion welled in my own throat at the thought of all the friends and comrades we'd just lost over the past seventy-two hours, and I reached out a hand and squeezed his upper arm in reassurance. Khentu reached over and squeezed it, and the cold metal of this two artificial fingers was contrasted to his warm palm. Then he reached over and replaced his helmet over his face.

"Right then," he sighed, but there was an edge of steel in his voice. "Let's get this done."

* * *

 **Omega's Child  
** _(Khentu Emrys)_

 **Date: Unknown  
Location: The Deeps, Omega**

All my life, I had grown up with stories about 'The Deeps.' Essentially, they were the living embodiment of Hell, the Afterlife, and all the horrible things associated with the Other Side. The maze of tunnels, cross-tunnels, and ventilation shafts seemed designed by a diabolical being to reduce the most sane of men into gibbering lunatics. The old mining geezers told stories of parties getting lost down here, and devolving into something more animal than sentient: tales of rotting, putrefying corpses still hobbling along, clinging to life and avoiding what little light existed.

Reality was... well, a lot like the stories. Fuck... the place made the _Warrens_ seem bright and homey.

My Omni-Tool's chronometer told me that we had been down here for eighteen hours, but all attempts to connect to the Extranet or connect any of the station's systems at all had failed.

 _So we have no way of knowing what has transpired up top, or even what fucking shift it is,_ I thought dourly as I maneuvered around _more_ rubble, revealing a narrow passageway blocked by… more rubble.

"Shit," one of the Rods murmured beside me. "We'll have to find another way around."

The estimation of a three-shift journey was by now, I was sure, hopelessly optimistic. Our group, while not hopelessly large, straggled badly, with the old, sick, wounded, and children taking up the rear, and taking hours to cover the same ground that armored fighters could have covered in half of that time. The sole comfort we had was our complete inability to measure exactly how much ground we had covered so far, and how much was left. Here and there our passage narrowed to small tunnels barely big enough for two people abreast, and elsewhere opened up to giant caverns where even our brightest lights couldn't find the walls or ceilings.

 _At least we haven't run into anything alive down here._

As if in solemn mockery of my unspoken thought, one of the Batarians up front raised a hand, and the mics in our helmets clicked twice. To their credit, the scouting group fanned out, taking cover while weapons panned back and forth, searching for targets. I moved as slowly and quietly as I could until I was beside the Horde member who had raised the alarm in the first place. I made a Batarian sign language for "where?" and the sniper lifted all five fingers in a knife-hand and pointed south, then raised three fingers. My helmet searched the darkness, but I couldn't make out anything. All the mockery and racism aside, Batarians _could_ see more with their four eyes than we Humans could with two, and I thought his helmet _might_ have infrared, or else maybe the scope of his rifle did.

And then, suddenly, one of the Salarians on the opposite side of the scouting party screamed, and his rifle burst into full-auto, before being suddenly silenced. Whirling towards the sound, my pistol barked at a dark figure darting across the path and bounding up what I would have sworn was a sheer cliff on the other side. But the lights illuminating the figure betrayed its identity.

"VARREN!" I called out over the radio. Silence was now pointless, and the group opened up on the figure, small bursts of mist showing where at least _some_ of our shots were finding their mark.

 _Something_ tickled on the back of my neck, and I whirled back towards where the sniper had first indicated. Three more canine-like figures were darting towards our narrow column, using the first's distraction to draw our fire.

"Left! 'Ware left!" I called out, slapping the Batarian's shoulder and sending as many bullets as I could downrange as fast as I could. The sniper whirled, and one of the beasts tripped as a round went through its skull, and toppled over in a flurry of limbs. But the other two came on, faster than should have been possible over the broken ground.

A black figure lifted off the ground and came at me in a flying leap. Without thinking, I stepped towards the beast and ducked, letting it overshoot me and landing where I _had been_. Then I closed the distance and fired at the brilliantly red eyes that regarded me with a look of sheer hate. A snap of jaws showed more teeth than I was comfortable being anywhere near me before the creature slumped over without a sound.

 _Without a sound_ …

The Batarian next to me was firing into the dark as the last creature swung left and disappeared from view. I looked left, and then right, taking in the scene. Then I realized what had been bothering me since the first gunshot: the beasts hadn't been making any sound at all.

Any varren pack I had _ever_ seen had made enough noise to deafen an elcor. We _should_ have been nearly deafened by their howls and snarls, to say nothing of the high-pitched yips of their hunting call. Instead, the only noises were the ones _we_ were making as shouts and warnings were called as we fired at other canine figures darting from cover to cover.

 _And what kind of varren were smart enough to take fucking COVER from gunfire?_

"Pick your targets!" I called out. "Don't let them overheat you!"

A Lightning Rod's SMG _clicked-clicked_ just then, the now-useless weapon _whining_ as venting ports opened, trying desperately to cool the superheated power core of the weapon. The varren he _had_ been shooting out sprang out, as if waiting for the sound and, still noiselessly, closed its jaws around the Human's thigh, picking up the screaming figure and shaking him like a rat. Another figure in Hellion armor dove at the creature, the glint of a knife plunging home just behind the front leg once, twice, and three times. The massive hound crumpled, and sank down into a heap. It _should_ have been whining piteously, and its pack-mates _should_ be howling their displeasure right about now.

Instead, two more figures sprang mutely from the shadows, grabbing the knife-wielding Hellion between them. There was a sound like a green stick cracking, and the two varren disappeared, half a Human held between them before I had even had time to raise my weapon.

"Back to back!" I called out, taking a few steps backwards, one of my shots striking home and driving a varren back into the darkness. My heart sank as I saw only two of the six scouts were still in a position to obey the order, a Salarian equipped with dual pistols, the off-hand weapon no longer needed by its former wielder, and my Batarian sniper, who had scooped up a likewise-abandoned assault rifle in favor of his larger, single-shot weapon. It was almost impossible to count the number of beasts around us with any accuracy, but I was reasonably sure there were more than three. Not that three wouldn't be enough to finish us off.

Just then, shots rang out on our left, from a ledge high above us. The black darkness burst into a brilliant light as a red flare ignited, floating in the air of the cavern high above us. _Dozens_ of hound-like creatures darted away, as if the orb of light caused them physical pain. The gunfire from the newcomers brought down a few of them, but the rest disappeared back into the receding darkness, still with only the scraping of their feet against stone to mark their positions. The three of us, with the wounded fourth man on the ground pulling a tourniquet tight around his upper thigh, swung our weapons towards the upper ledge.

"Hold fire!" came a voice from somewhere above us. "Friendlies! Friendlies!"

I cocked my head to the side. My first thought had been Laila or maybe Jesse had taken a patrol from the main party and come to our aid. But the voice belonged to a stranger.

"We'll be the judge of that, thanks," I said slowly.

"That the gratitude we get for saving your asses?"

A feminine figure stood up, illuminated by the flare. By the muzzle flashes, I knew there were at least five or six other shooters with her, but they wisely remained hidden. The two unwounded men with me slowly walked towards cover, just in case we had to restart this fight against these newcomers.

"It is," I answered slowly, "if you only wanted to save the best ass for yourself."

A chuckle escaped the figure as she came down to our level.

"I thought you were more courteous than that, Khentu Emrys," the distorted voice replied as a hand reached up to pull off her helmet.

I blinked at the casual drop of my name, and then again at the Asari's face as she stepped into the light from my Omni-Tool, illuminating her sharp features: Teyla Villa, otherwise known as the Villa Viper up on Afterlife level. The last time I had seen her, she had covertly melded with me for information in the middle of an Omegan orgy.

"It's not that I'm not glad to see you, Teyla," I said slowly, "but where in the _Holy Hells_ did you come from? And when in all the hells' names are you doing _here_?!"

"I could ask you the same," she said slowly, but she folded her sniper rifle and placed it on her back in a gesture of friendship. Not that her biotics couldn't have killed us where we stood, but it was the spirit of the thing.

"Lift fell," I answered simply, in the same spirit of friendship. "Vorcha with a suicide vest."

"What the hell was a vorcha doing with a suicide vest?" she asked.

I bit back a dozen sarcastic answers, and took in the genuine confusion on her face.

"How long have you been down here?" I asked, and her face twisted.

" _Much longer_ that I was supposed to be," she answered. "But we've lost contact with everybody up top, and all the systems have gone to the deeps, pardon the expression."

 _Ahhh. She has less of an idea of what's going on up top than we do._

"We… should talk," I said slowly, opting _not_ to dump the news that Ganar Yulaz had decided to choose Omega as a place for his glorious Second Krogan Empire to die. "Lot's going on up top."

She drew herself up, and then lifted a hand in a wave. Another six figures, most of them Turians, stood and began making their way down to us.

"Sounds like a plan," she nodded. "But not out here in the open. We've got a base of operations not far from here. Can your wounded man make it?"

"I think _he_ can," I nodded, "But that's hardly all of us."

"How many do you have with you?" she asked, another round of puzzlement coming over her face.

"Yeah… about that," I replied, almost unwillingly, "That's probably another thing we should talk about…"

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **So here we are, embarking on our third and final act of this story. While giant, universe-impacting stories are fun to write (see my** Beacon's Effect **and** Wolf Queen **stories), I've mainly used this story to micro-focus on the everyday, run-of-the-mill NPCs that Shepard and Co. race past trying to fulfill the main missions.  
My thanks to Katkiller-V, not only for the use of his excellent AR Mass Effect Universe, but also for the invaluable beta-reading skills. **

**As always, your thoughts/ suggestions/ constructive criticisms are always welcome in the reviews, or my PMs.**

 **ROCK ON, my friends!**

 **-Tusken1602**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

seabo76 - That depends: who do you think died? :P Ganar was a fun POV to write, actually, even if only for a short interlude.

KrossPhelps - Right now, we have no idea who is alive, and who is dead. Not _really_. *evil laugh*

A Plexx, BJ Hanssen - Thanks, it was challenge, but here's another chapter in short order! :) And yes to Krom. ;P

Draco Oblivion - Welcome to Omega: one second someone is ruling a significant portion of the station, on-course to become a major player on Omega and, by extension, the Terminus Systems, and the next... BOOM, dead. It's the place where plans are cheap, and life is cheaper. That's the reason why probably a good 80% of the characters we met in Chapter 1 are dead by now. NO ONE in this story has plot armor, or an epic destiny, or a fated ending: they're all just trying to survive the next shift on the meatgrinder that is Omega.

EE-RAH!


	18. Act 3: The Arena

**Holy Warrior**  
 _(Father Ignatius)_

 **Date: Unknown  
Location: The Deeps, Omega, Terminus System**

"So what are Aria's people doing in the Deeps?" I asked, following Laila through the maze of civilians, most of whom had collapsed in exhaustion as soon as we had arrived in the little compound. The area had a one-story wall running in a semi-circle, with the main building butted up against a sheer rock face, reminding me of a European castle... albeit a very small and very run-down one.

"They were pretty tight-lipped about it," Laila answered, the Turian Blood Arrow's mandibles working in an expression that I thought might be frustration, or maybe nervousness. Or maybe both as we both took in the situation around us. I had no idea why I had been called to this little council, but I had followed nonetheless into the small, almost startlingly well-lit room. It was quite the contrast to the past several days, no, _shifts_ , my brain reminded me, of stumbling over rock and rubble in near-darkness.

Captain Teyla Villa, the Asari in black armor, stood with her arms resting on a holo-projector. Khentu was also there, and I recognized Whiz Bang, Turgor, and Malthus; the other gang leaders.

"Teyla, Father Ignatius," Khentu gestured in introduction. I resisted the urge to stretch out my hand for a handshake, and exchanged polite nods with the Asari instead.

"Daughter," I greeted in return. The word earned me a confused look for a second, but then she shrugged as we all turned towards the table in the middle of the room.

"A map of the Deeps?" I asked, arching an eyebrow at the labyrinth of tunnels, caverns, and mine shafts displayed.

"Half of one," Teyla admitted. "We've already determined that at least _some_ of the things have changed since this map was made, so we have no idea how accurate the rest of it is. What I'm showing now is just the local area and what we can be reasonably certain exists."

She tapped a few commands out and the yellow projection became highlighted in red sections, likely showing collapsed tunnels or new passageways her team had discovered during the time they'd been down here.

"Trust us," Khentu said, "It's more accurate than ours."

"We don't have a map," Whiz-Bang stated in a confused tone of voice.

Khentu sighed and shot a look at the leader of Lightning Rods in our party. It took a few seconds, but then understanding came into the tattooed human's eyes.

"Oh," he said slowly, "I get it."

Khentu rolled his eyes and turned back to Teyla and resumed, "All right then. Storytime: what the _fuck_ was up with those varren, and what the _fuck_ is Aria doing, sending people down into the Deeps?"

Teyla pursed her lips for a moment, and then apparently made a decision. "It's a long story, one that goes back almost two hundred years and more. At least for the start of it."

Silence followed, and several shifted back expectantly, waiting for more.

"Before Aria came to this station," Teyla resumed when no one asked any questions, "This station was ruled by Patriarch. You know how Aria rules from Afterlife?" Heads nodded around the room. "Well, Patriarch ruled from down _here_."

The map zoomed in to reveal a structure that resembled nothing so much as the Roman Coliseum I had visited, back on Earth. Perhaps larger... perhaps smaller? It was hard to tell the scale of it from the simple image.

"It's called the Grand Arena," Teyla continued. "Patriarch ruled from there, and this is where he would… _punish_ lawbreakers, feeding them to creatures he brought in from all over the galaxy in grand fighting exhibitions and games. It kept his Krogan entertained, and the masses cowed. His palace or headquarters, whatever you want to call it, was attached to the side over there."

Heads continued to nod. I took in the information, somewhere my internal clock winding back the years in the story.

 _That would be around 1980s in Earth's calendar_ , _or thereabouts,_ I mused silently. _Humans had barely managed to leave their planet's atmosphere._

Teyla zoomed in even closer on the giant structure. "When Aria took over the station, she defeated Patriarch in a previously-insignificant club known as Afterlife. She enjoyed the symbolism, and shifted the capital there. And since that was more or less where the original Turian-built fortifications were anyway, it was more practical than the Arena ever was."

"Makes sense for more reasons than just that," Khentu nodded. "It's closer to the docks, more open and structured. Easier to control everything coming in and out from there."

Teyla nodded and then made a dismissive gesture. "Point is, there were still a lot of Patriarch's supporters down here, along with his whole menagerie of horrors he had caged for sport. Rather than risk her newly-won leadership on fighting all of them in this goddess-damned maze…"

"She sealed off the tunnels and bombarded the docks," I finished for her, pointing to something that _might_ once have been a dockyard near the Arena. "And then all she had to do was wait until they all surrendered, starved, or suffocated."

Murmurs ran around the room: some shocked, others surprised, and some of impressed approval.

"That's cold," Khentu observed as Teyla nodded in confirmation of my words. "It's _brilliant_ , but cold. Explains the creatures, but not why she's bothering to send people down after two centuries of forgetting about them on purpose."

"That's… above my paygrade," Teyla sighed. "All I know is that something big went down in the mines a few months ago, something that worried her greatly. But all I know for certain is that I was ordered to explore the Arena, and then to report what I found so Aria could decide whatever came next. But I've lost all contact with the Uppers, and can't even patch into the network, or into the station's systems directly. Not from here."

She sighed deeply, obviously trying to decide how _best_ to say something she absolutely did _not_ want to say. "Worse... there's something… _wrong_ with the people down here. Especially the not-quite people."

Her Turian second-in-command shifted, and I didn't miss the hand drift towards the gun at his back. But instead, the hand pulled a sheet off of what, up until now, I had assumed was mothballed equipment.

I was wrong.

Gasps and oaths to a dozen different deities rose as we took in the sight of… _something_. Instinctively, I made the sign of the cross and muttered, "Holy Mary," myself.

The corpse on the table _resembled_ a Turian, but the fringe was _much_ too long, as were its arms and fingers.

 _Those mandibles were also distorted into something that more closely resembled praying mantis jaws,_ I thought, _designed to seize and hold prey while the jaws could work and consume it._

"What in _Set's Name_ …?" Khentu hissed as he bent closer to look.

"I have no clue," Teyla answered, and her voice was suddenly, painfully small. "But it… and other weird things, like those silent varren, are practically _swarming_ the Arena."

"Mutation?" I asked. "Generations of abandoned denizens? Radioactive water? Patriarch's experiments?"

"No idea," Teyla shook her head. "I had twenty guns defending this position, but all scouts and messengers I've sent out have been killed," she shuddered. "Or worse. Now I have eight, including me. We have supplies and weapons aplenty for now, but frankly, I don't have the bodies to use them. We were trying to see if we could find the lifts you lot took down when we ran into each other... it was a desperate move but I'm not confident we can stay here much longer."

"I'm not going out there," Whiz-Bang wheezed, fists clenched in sheer terror. "That thing ain't natural. It's not _right_ , I tell ya."

"You want to wait _here_ , and wait for them to come get you?" Khentu snapped. "We don't have a choice."

I turned my gaze from the mutated corpse and carefully studied the map for a moment. "Which way did your party _enter_ the Deeps?"

Teyla started, taken out of the memories of her past few days, and pointed to the giant structure. "This way, the main lift in the Arena. It's a direct, no-stop shaft to Afterlife District. They locked it behind us when we descended, and we weren't able to summon the lift the last time we were there. That's how I lost four of my guns in our last try to get out."

"The way I see it, we've got one shot," Khentu nodded grimly, joining us at the map table. "Barco will be able to override the main lifts in the Arena, if it's remotely possible."

"The station's systems…" Teyla started to object.

"Are _down_ ," Khentu cut her off. "That means safeguards and firewalls, too. He'll get it done. He's the best tech-master on this station, or I'm a Hanar juggler."

"What's the plan, boss?" Laila asked, stepping forward and speaking for the first time since we'd entered. I smiled at the tactic: once again, she was using the term to project authority over the whole group. This lot not being the most _tactical_ or initiative-showing bunch, it would most likely work. Their fear and _need_ of orders and a plan to follow would ensure that even having a human for a "boss" would almost come as a welcome relief.

"Teyla and I take a small party and go get the lifts started," Khentu stated. "We all go, we'll be painting a giant target on our heads," he said before others could object. "It also must be taken to consideration that, _shit_ as this sounds, the Deeps might be safest places for us."

Incredulous looks came from all around, probably including mine.

"We have to take into account that Ganar might have taken over the station by now," Khen explained. "Maybe Aria has returned, and he's killed her already. More likely given how horribly things were going when we fell, he's already got the station, and is bracing for her counterattack. And trust me friends, coming up in the middle of Afterlife District in the middle of Aria and Ganar Yulaz is _not_ a place we want to find ourselves, regardless of who wins."

I opened my mouth, and then shut it again. As much as I wanted to get out of here, I liked living more, and there was no way I would risk taking the children from a bad situation to an even worse one. Not unless I thought that was the only chance for them to survive.

"And what's to prevent you from fixing the lifts and leaving the rest of us stranded here?" Turgor asked. "Or any of these other _bekwa_ from doing the same?"

Growls went around the room, and hands drifted towards weapons again.

"I'll go with the advance party," I said, my own voice surprising me. Eyes turned towards me. "I have _children_ here dependent upon me," I went on. "You _know_ that I will return when the lift is repaired, if no one else will."

"Equal numbers from _all_ gangs," nodded Khentu. "No one group will control the lift at any given time, or be left behind in one location. Turgor, Malthus, you and Whiz Bang are all going with me: we all go together, or none of us do, it's that simple. I'm going with the advance party because it's my damn-fool plan, and the most chance of dying, so I'm honor-bound to share in its dangers."

More growls went around the room, these of approval, and another round of non-committal head-nods occurred.

"Then let's go about surviving this day," Khentu muttered and reached for his helmet.

"If I may, my son?" I interjected, and once again, all eyes turned to me. "Several of us have gone _many_ days… um, shifts, without sleep. Others are coming down from the stims, or already caught up in the shakes. ' _Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof,_ ' the Holy Scriptures tell us. I would recommend at least several hours rest for everyone. Then we may tackle tomorrow's evils, free at least from _some_ of the strain of yesterday's."

Teyla nodded slowly. "The priest is making a lot of sense, Emrys."

Laila stepped forward. "My team will take first watch," she said.

"Yeah," Khen sighed, and it was like someone was putting all the weight of the past few days upon him all at once. His shoulders slumped, and suddenly his movements became stiff.

I walked out with the rest of the meeting, moving through the crowds until I found my group. Hadasi and Drella were still sitting down with them, and in the low light, as they all huddled together, it suddenly struck me how like children both of these young maidens still were, regardless of how many Earth-years old they were.

"Father?"

I turned at the sound to find a small group assembled behind me. It was mostly humans, but there were a few batarians and Turians in the back.

"Yes, my children?" I asked.

"Many of us got hurt'uns, sir," another spoke. "Don't suppose… don't suppose you could… prays for 'em?"

"We's don't have much," another said, and a fist of shiny baubles was thrust in my direction. "Is… is it enough?"

 _Merciful Jesus_ , _give me strength._

"I'm not a peddler of miracles, my child," I said, forcing the handful of jewelry away. "I can't promise my God's intercession, but I would be glad to ask for it all the same. I need no reward for my faith."

I moved to the first stretcher that had been dragged towards me. Reaching at the small of my back, I pulled my _stole_ from its well-worn pouch, draping the purple band of cloth around the back of my neck, letting it hang free in front.

 _"Almighty and Everlasting God, the eternal salvation of those who believe in You,"_ I began, and I heard more than saw many kneeling the dirt all around me, " _hear us on behalf of Your servants who are sick, for whom we humbly beg the help of your mercy…"_

* * *

 **Broken Vessel**  
 _(Laila Adonis)_

 **Date: Unknown  
Location: The Arena, the Deeps, Omega**

Khentu had wanted me to stay behind and take command of the compound while he went off and risked life and limb on yet another suicidal scouting mission. I told him to go and suck eggs. I had seen him get this way before: when we were hunting Archangel up on Kima. Then and now, we'd been incredibly lucky to survive, when so many of our friends hadn't. Now Khen was acting like he could roll sixes from here until Spirits-day. But the dice have no memory, and one of these throws wasn't going to turn out like he'd hoped.

Something in the back of my head accused me of being a coward: choosing any risk with Khentu rather than staying with Wasilla at the compound.

 _I can't help her,_ I thought again for the thousandth time. _She will wake, or she won't. I_ can _help Khen, and drag his ass out of the fire when he falls in. Again._

Spirits damn it, this _would_ happen right after we had finally given in, well after _I'd_ finally given in, to the chemistry that had always been between us.

 _Father._

 _Mother._

 _Danitus._

 _Agrippa._

 _Wasilla_.

 _Khentu._

 _Everything you love dies._

I shook off the feeling, instead concentrating my attention once again on the back of the human priest in front of me. Both Khentu and Ptolemy had spoken well of him, but I mentally went through the few facts I knew about the man.

He had paid for Khentu's surgery and rehab upon Afterlife District, so whoever he was or worked for, was well-connected.

He had founded an orphanage on arguably the roughest station in the galaxy, and had survived there, with a dozen well-cared-for children, for _months_ , where other off-station assholes didn't last _hours_. Especially the naive, soft-hearted kind who would normally try something like that.

That knife disarm and throat punch of the Jackal had proven he could handle himself in a street brawl. The way he had checked the power core and mag of the _Punisher_ SMG that someone had given him had shown that he at least had an _academic_ knowledge of guns. I turned my full attention to the way he moved and the way he held himself: knees slightly bent, weight forward on his toes, ready to spring almost any direction at any given moment.

 _Yep,_ I determined, _this guy has been in more than a few street fights_. Which made me wonder exactly what kind of priest that made him.

 _A practical one_ , I answered myself, _and a useful one._

The trip was both longer than I'd wanted but shorter than I'd feared, Teyla leading us down several smaller tunnels that her team was fairly sure were usually empty. The Spirits must have been with us because they were, and it wasn't until we'd emerged into a much larger space, the edges of the Arena just visible as looming shadows beneath flickering lights on ahead, that things once more began to go sideways.

Just as we were gathering to discuss our plan of approach, several massive _booms_ sounded in the distance, along with the unmistakable _ratta-ratta-tat_ of distant gunfire.

"Sounds like the party's already started," Khen said, cocking a head at the noise. "Any of your people?"

"Not that came with me," Teyla answered, shaking her head. "Unless…"

"It might be another group coming down from the Uppers _looking_ for you," Ignatius cut in. "Or another party of survivors."

Khen sighed, "Either way, they're gonna need help, or we're gonna have to know to stay clear of them. Get the lead out, people! "

The group moved again, not at a dead run, but at a quicker, steadier pace. You didn't _run_ in combat when you didn't have to: it made you short of breath, and gave you tunnel vision, leaving you winded and crippled for when you finally got into the action. And on Omega, that rhymed with 'dead.' Instead we moved at an easy loping pace, about as fast as the short Asari could comfortably move and still aim, which wasn't much more than a light jog to myself and the other Turians.

Coming around a narrow bend, a massive cavern stretched out in front of us. Below, we could see lights coming from…

 _"A ship_?" Whiz-Bang hissed incredulously. "Fuck me, is that a shuttle!? _How_!?"

Sure enough, a line of fire and burning wreckage illuminated from where the shuttle had ground to a halt in the wide plain between us and the massive structure of the Great Arena of Patriarch's time. The long line made a crude as-the- _lylo_ -flies line from where I thought the ruined docks lay.

Another, much louder series of cracking gunshots sounded, and a stream of tracers could be seen coming from the far side of the shuttle, illuminating their path towards the fall side of the artificial canyon. In the darkness, the tiny figures of more varren and emaciated figures scattered in a field of fire and death. The gunfire continued in a near-continuous hail, sweeping left, then right, then left again, until nothing moved.

"Then again," Khentu muttered in a low voice, and I heard a smile in his voice for the first time in a while, "maybe we should ask _them_ for help."

He started to move, but then a massive hand reached out as Nakmor Chell pulled him back into cover.

"The symbol," she rumbled. "On the shuttle; take a second look."

Teyla looked through the scope of her rifle at the downed vessel. _"Fuck..._ Blood Pack."

A chorus of groans went around the group.

"Well, the fact remains that whoever is down there has that gods-damned massive gun," Khentu sighed after a moment of silence. "We would have lost half our group fighting our way through that mob."

"Your point?" I asked.

"That they're in just as big a shithole as we are," he answered. "We're all in the Deeps together."

"You're hoping to _reason_ and appeal to a Krogan's sense of _logic_?" Chell didn't even attempt to hide the skepticism in her tone.

"Not in the slightest," Khentu smiled, and I recognized the wry grin on his face. " _You're_ going to appeal to their good sense. And I'm going down with you to back you up."

" _Ancestors,_ shoot me now," the Krogan rolled her eyes, but then moved a hand to slam the visor on her helmet shut. "If we die, human, I'm going to kill you."

"I'm going with," I said, and Khen and I shared a look that let him know that it was no use arguing. Teyla also started to rise with us, and I put a hand on her shoulder.

"Might want to hang back," I said, looking pointedly on the white symbol painted on her black armor. "Let's not _invite_ bullets if we can help it."

She paused, and then nodded. "We'll cover you from here if it all goes to the deeps."

I let out a chirp, then followed Khen and Chell down the slope towards the crash. "Yeah, ' _If_.'"

The three of us drew closer to the ship, and Chell moved to secure her shotgun to the massive holster on her hip, following that by lifting her arms to show both of her hands, palms towards the ship. She looked over her shoulder and hitched a shoulder pointedly. Khentu slowly moved to mimic her gesture, folding his pistol and raising his hands. Every fiber of my being screaming in protest, I folded the shotgun on the small of my back and raised my own hands we resumed our walk.

For the longest time, nothing happened. We were approaching from the opposite side from the gunfire we had witnessed earlier, and I had just about decided that we were approaching unseen when suddenly the _wall_ of the shuttle collapsed in a scream of twisting metal, revealing the absolute _largest_ battle-mech I had ever seen. A massive shield swung in front of it, riddled with meter-long spikes that hinted that it was far from merely a defensive weapon. But to be honest, the shield only got the briefest of glances in favor of the other arm, which contained more rotating barrels that anything had a right to.

"Down!" Chell boomed, seizing both of us in a massive mitt of a hand and diving behind a nearby boulder. A _hail_ of gunfire tore up the ground where we had been standing only a moment ago, reminding me of the earth-tillers my parents would use on the farm on Invictus.

A synthetic voice roared out in a language my translator didn't process, and certainly one I had never heard, punctuated by several more burst that made the boulder we were cowering behind quite smaller. I was about to start shooting back when Chell roared something back in the same language.

"What _the hells_ is that?" I asked.

"Some dialect of Elder Krogan," I heard Khentu grunt. "Something about 'death' and 'destruction'?"

"It _is_ ," Chell murmured, and the female Krogan's head cocked in confusion. "How do you…?"

"Languages have always been a hobby of mine," Khentu answered, and I could tell he was grinning like an idiot underneath that helmet.

"Speaking other languages _badly_ is your hobby," I hissed back, annoyed once again at his smugness, especially in the face of near or certain death.

Another shout came from the ship, but this one was actually _not_ followed by any gunfire.

"What's it saying?" I asked, hearing the exasperation in my voice as the other two stared at each other.

"The mech said, 'I will defend this child to the death,'" Chell answered.

"Can you tell it we're not here to kill any babies?" Khen asked.

Chell stood to her feet now, showing both hands again, and rumbled off more of the Krogan language.

The spiked shield moved very slowly aside, and the mech stepped out from the shelter of the shuttle, rattling off more of the language. Just then, a high-pitched _wail_ sounded, splitting the air. Chell made a choked gasping noise, and took two steps forward, stopping only when the gun rose again in her direction. She barked a phrase, and her hands went down to rest on her hips, looking like she was scolding a naughty schoolboy, instead of a giant murder machine. The mech slowly stepped aside, and she disappeared inside the wrecked shuttle. After a moment she reappeared, a small bundle in hand. Then I realized exactly who was holding it, and realized it was a _large_ bundle. A tiny hand lifted out of the blanket, and the baby Krogan wailed its displeasure to the station.

"Well," Khentu said, slowly rising from our prone position. "Of all the things I was expecting… this was _certainly_ not one of them."

* * *

 **Omega's Child  
** _(Khentu Emrys)_

 **Date: 11-29-2184  
Location: The Arena, The Deeps, Omega**

"Well, at least we knew what day it is," I muttered ruefully.

It didn't seem possible that we had been down in the Deeps for close to a _week_. I would have sworn we had only been down here for _maybe_ two or three days. But then again, in the next moment, I would have sworn we had been down here a _month_ if not a _year_.

The inside of the shuttle had revealed a half-dozen dead Krogan, one of them another female. She'd been dressed in some kind of robes and shawl, where the rest had clearly been her bodyguards. Most looked liked they'd died in the crash, the rest must have been killed by the mob of... the whatever. Barco had quietly connected to the shuttle's computer, gleaning what information he could while the giant mech guard was distracted, watching Chell tend to the only survivor of the crash and battle: a tiny Krogan babe.

"Aria's fleet has arrived," Laila stated, staring at the information coming across the lone screen still working on the main display. "Apparently this shuttle was trying to get to the relay, with a pre-programmed destination for Tuchanka when they ran into them arriving. They took a glancing hit from something but managed to limp back to the station before crash-landing here."

There was a newfound ripple of excitement through our little band. I moved past them, stepping out of the now-crowded vessel to the massive _Ancestor_ -class battle mech that was almost comically standing over the figure of Nakmor Chell, who was gentling rumbling something to the now-sleeping baby. It had taken Barco all of eight seconds to recognize that it was an AI inside that murder machine, rather than a simple VI, obeying orders and subroutines.

Which was... something.

It whirled towards me as I approached, the gun coming up to face me directly. I held my hands out wide, and continued our conversation from before, with Chell filling in any lapses I had in my Elder Krogan, which was, despite my pretensions, almost nonexistent. Thankfully the thing seemed to understand us just fine, regardless of the language spoken, though it only ever replied in its own.

"What is your designation?" I asked. The machine rumbled off an answer, and I thought I caught the Krogan word for 'ancient.'

"The Bloody One," Chell answered softly.

 _OK then. Guess I heard wrong._

"According to your ship's information, Ganar Yulaz's Empire has either fallen or is falling as we speak?" I said, trying to frame the question as a statement.

"Affirmative," came the answer.

"What is your directive, then?" I asked. "To fight for a dying empire?"

"To defend and preserve the Heir," came the answer, and Chell's eyes flicked down at the baby, to remove all doubt as to who was 'the Heir.' I felt myself stiffen, and a cold chill ran down my spine.

" _The_ Heir?" I asked. Chell nodded in confirmation of my worst fears.

 _Calm down, Khentu_ , my mind raced with a thousand possibilities, and a thousand and one actions. _I have the Heir to Ganar Yulaz less than a meter from me, and the world's deadliest nanny right in front of me._

"Then… you'll need Chell," I said slowly, a plan taking form in my mind. "As she's the only one who knows how to care for an infant."

The Bloody One needed a short period of time to think about that, but it's blocky head nodded once. "Confirmed."

"And you'll need us as well, to keep _her_ alive."

Again came the mono-tone "Confirmed."

I took a deep breath. "Then you'll need to assist us in clearing the Arena, in order for us to bring reinforcements and assistance back down from the Upper Levels, the better to keep Chell alive, and thus the Heir."

That proposition brought the gun back up into my face, and the rotating barrels cast a wind on my face. More guttural vowels and harsh consonants sounded.

"I will _not_ allow the child to fall into the hands or power of the Black Queen," Chell translated slowly, caution and warning in her voice. My continued existence, or my being turned into confetti, depended on my next answer.

"I will swear," I started slowly, "on my life, on my honor, on my _Kor'rede,"_ using the modern Krogan word for 'honor,' "to defend the child, insofar as it is within my power."

Chell evidently felt the need to make sure the machine understood that, because she rattled off something in the formal language, and then I thought added something of her own. I raised my eyebrow in wordless question.

"I vouched for your word," she answered, "and your battle-prowess as a war-chief."

The barrels slowed, and then the arm turned away, the mech barking a single word, which by now needed no translation. "Confirmed."

I sighed a massive sigh of relief, and recalling everything I could of Krogan manners, I placed the back of my hand against my forehead, and then clasped the fist over my chest as I backed away, slowly. Back at the shuttle, a familiar-looking Asari stood there, with a hand on her hp.

"You're promising to defend the Heir of Ganar Yulaz?" Teyla asked. "Against Aria?"

The ludicrousness of the question was explicit.

"Who said that is The Heir of the Krogan Emperor?" I asked, cocking my head to communicate my meaning. "All I see is a Krogan baby…"

"Just a baby," Teyla repeated dryly, "that the Krogan Emperor attempted to use his last ship to send away to safety on the Krogan homeworld and felt was important enough to dispatch a goddess-fucking massive battlemech to defend."

"Yeah," I nodded, "And yet all we _see_ is a baby, and a mech dedicated to protecting it, and a way for us to solve all of our problems in one fell swoop, in exchange for promises in the future."

"Ahhh," Teyla nodded. "P _romises_."

"To defend a baby," I quoted, " _insofar_ as it is within my power."

Teyla nodded, and a look of understanding passed between us. We both knew exactly how far my power extended in comparison to Aria's after all.

"But we're putting the whole cart before the _bulla-ox_ , anyway," I shrugged. "We have to clear this Arena first, anyway, or enough of it that we can get the lift moving."

We formed up once more, with only a minor bit of tension when the mech saw Teyla's people. Chell got it calmed down again pretty quickly, and after a bit of discussion, we formed up once more. The mech's height let it sit in the center next to Chell and the infant, with the rest of us fanning out in a wedge shaped formation more or less pointed at the arena proper. For his part Ignatius had stuck himself next to Chell in an amusing fit of chivalry, apparently, despite being dwarfed by both the Krogan female and the Krogan mech.

Nothing tried to kill us on the approach, but that changed rapidly once we crossed the line of rubble and entered the Arena proper.

"Caius," Teyla barked. "Another."

'Caius' lifted a gun with an under-barrel, and another red-burning flare _whooshed_ out, illuminating the sinister blackness inside the massive structure. _Dozens_ of eyes reflected this new light, blinking the harsh red light from the flare. Figures came out from the ruins and rubble, and came at us at a run. The only sound in the air was a long _piercing_ moan that every throat added to as they sprinted towards us. Still, horrible as it was, the sound was almost a welcome relief from the unnerving _silence_ of the previous encounters.

With a long whine and a louder hum, the Bloody One's gun primed and then spat forth an impossible amount of firepower. With every few seconds of mini-gun fire, a grenade launcher mounted on the side of the arm _thumped_ , and a round explosive shell arched forward to blossom in the middle of another group in a fiery flower of death.

Inside the structure, the giant mech was both a blessing and a curse. The hallways were tall and wide, as if whoever had designed them had this kind of mech in mind. However, branching off of the main passageways were dozens of narrow hallways that we couldn't clear until we were _right_ on top of them, and the damned mech was anything but maneuverable.

"They seem to be doing their best to cut us off from the Main Lift!" Malthus yelled next to me. "Or at least, they seemed determined _not_ to let us get near it!"

"Well, hate to disappoint them," Turgor called out, the Batarian putting a round through the throat of what had _probably_ been a Human, once upon a time. "But that's where we're going!"

With a roar now, more and more creatures were coming at a run, throwing themselves into the line of fire with reckless abandon, and zero regard for life.

I saw Ignatius duck under a wild swing of one of the… weird, twisted creatures and send a round neatly through its skull. As we moved forward, I noted with approval that he didn't fire wildly or sporadically, like even some of the veteran gangbangers with us. His gun swung left, right, and left again, barking flame every time it found a target.

 _Useful, for a priest._

Then suddenly, without warning, there were no more targets, just twitching corpses that drew an occasional gunshot to ensure that they were actually dead. Less pleasantly, the hallway had narrowed to the extent that the Bloody One couldn't progress further, the mech shifting to defend the narrow approach to an old, rusted door was the rest of us eagerly pushed towards it.

"Please tell me this is it." I said, moving up behind Teyla and Whiz Bang.

"This _is_ it." The Asari confirmed, stepping aside as Whiz Bang reared back and kicked hard at the door. He needed three kicks to get it open, but open it did, to reveal a large entry area of some kind, in the middle of which sat... a single black orb upon some kind of pedestal.

"What the…?" I managed, and then a _stab_ of pain caught me between the eyes.

"No!" Teyla screamed, her voice sounding like it came from _very far away_. " _No_! Not again! Athame- _no!_ "

Everything swam in my head, and a piercing, blinding, _stabbing_ pain went through my head like someone had jammed two hot pokers into my head and were using them to search for something inside.

 _Someone_ …

It was like a meld, or... I thought it was. The pain made it hard to think properly, but there was none of the semi-sensual intimacy that accompanied it. This was a horrible monstrosity as if… someone else just decided to rip open your skull to see what was inside.

Several people were screaming now, and I realized that my voice was one of them.

 _"JESU MARIA!"_

I recognized Ignatius' voice as somewhere, seemingly far-away, gunshots barked. There was a horrible thundering sound _,_ and the orb _shattered_ into a hundred pieces with a noise that was the crackle of lightning and the tinkle of glass all at once. I was only vaguely aware of the whole thing before black, blissful unconsciousness found me again.

"Khentu? Khen?"

"Spirits Damn it, Khen, wake up!"

"...Laila?" I croaked her name as someone shook me.

My eyes cracked open, and my searching hand found an arm, hauling me back to my feet. The room was dark now, compared to the weird black-purple light that had illuminated the entire space only a moment ago.

"What in all the seven hells what that?" I breathed.

"Teyla's killed herself," Laila answered quietly. Which was both an answer and very much not one.

"What?" I asked incredulously, turning to see that the Asari and _all_ of her Turians lay on the floor. From the blood spatter, it looked like…

"They killed each other?" I asked again.

"It happened when… that thing… did," Chell answered, checking on the now-screaming Krogan baby held securely in the carrier on her chest. Nearby Barco was twitching madly, but seemed to be trying to calm himself down, and Whiz Bang was vomiting up what little rations we'd been able to eat. Everyone who'd still been in the hallway looked rattled but more confused than anything... maybe they hadn't gotten the full effect?

Laila nodded and her mandibles worked wordlessly. "It… _looked_ into me," she finally said. "There was someone on the other end of that Orb. Or some _thing_."

"A malevolent spirit, to be sure," Ignatius spoke, and the priest crossed himself. His pistol was up and ready, though the hand that held it trembled.

"I'm… _We're_ … much obliged for that shot, priest," I sighed. "Otherwise there's no doubt in my mind we'd all be… like…"

I gestured towards the prone figure of Teyla and the other soldiers of Aria.

"Why do you think it affected them more than us?" Whiz Bang wiped at his mouth before turning to gape at the bodies of Aria's soldiers.

"I don't know," I admitted.

"Maybe because they've been down here longer?" Ignatius offered. "Prolonged radiation exposure, that kind of thing?"

There was a few cautious nods, though they were the type I knew meant everyone was going along with the answer out of a lack of understanding. Not that I really _wanted_ to understand what that had been... or wanted to see anything like it ever again. Either way, getting out of here seemed like an even better idea than it had been a few minutes ago.

"So… Barco?" I asked, trying to focus my scrambled thoughts on something concrete. Like returning to what passed for civilization.

The Salarian nodded and quickly moved over to the lift. I was just about to try and ask Laila something when he made a surprised sound, then another. Everyone turned at that to watch as he worked, and after a few minutes watched as he shook his head in confusion. "I don't get it. There's… nothing wrong with it."

"Say again?" Malthus asked, the 8-Zero Demon's head cocking sideways. "But the Asari bitch said…"

"There's _no reason_ why this lift wouldn't work," Barco insisted, "not as far as I can tell. I mean, that said, it looks like _someone_ has done a lot of work on it."

He gestured towards the shining gears and inner workings of the box he was examining.

"See?" he said. "All of this wiring is new. _Brand-new_ , or I'm a soft-shell."

"Maybe… _they_ were working on it?" Turgor hissed, his lower set of eyes flicking towards one of the mutated corpses.

I shook my head, unable to imagine those mindless… _husks_ of creatures working on anything.

"Maybe…" I said, a tendril of a thought weaving its way through my brain once again, "Someone wanted to put that… orb _thing_ up into the Upper Levels."

"What do you mean?" Laila asked.

"If someone… or something wanted to create as much chaos on Omega as possible, my daughter, especially after a great battle like the one that must have occurred up there," Ignatius said, pointing a finger up the long shaft. "I can't imagine a better way than sending that infernal device into the middle of Afterlife. Perhaps even in the middle of the battle itself."

There was a collective shudder that went around the room.

"Well," Laila continued. "That still leaves us with the question: what are we going to do now?"

"Head back up, obviously," Barco said incredulously. "We've got to get back to Little Egypt before…"

"If anyone has survived up there," Laila said sorrowfully, "The Consortium has already moved into the area with a vengeance. Them, or the Talons, or White Tigers."

I turned back to the group as a whole. Chell was picking up the baby, moving back down the hall towards where we had left the pacing (and probably irate) Bloody One. I looked around at the room: the darkness which had seen so permeable a moment ago… now seemed… quiet. The _air_ itself had changed, as if an almost-unnoticeable _whining_ or _ringing_ in your ears had ceased. Calm… and peace hung upon us, where before had only been sharp tension.

"On me," I said, waving the group towards me. "Turgor, Malthus, Whiz and I are going up on the lift," I stated slowly. "Regardless of what we do after, we have to get up there and know the lay of the land. Laila, you, Ignatius, and Barco look after the others, and keep… Big _Blood_ out there working on clearing the lanes."

I looked sharply at the others.

"We go up, we find out what's going on, we come back down for our people," I said, pointedly making eye contact with each of them. " _All_ of our people."

Heads nodded, and Laila, Barco, and the priest moved off to clear the massive Lift.

"Barco, if this thing breaks down or gets stuck between levels," I said, "I'm coming back down to shoot your other leg."

The Salarian smiled, and then hit the _'_ Ascend' Button. The entire floor of the room lifted with _startling_ speed, There were no _walls_ to the lift, as far as I could see, and no cables pulling us upwards. _Must be a older PowerLift model,_ I thought, and then I resisted the urge to slap myself. The thing was almost two hundred years old, so _of course_ it would be a different model than the other Lifts on Omega.

For a _very_ long while, none of us spoke, instead just basking in the strobe-like lighting of a lift making its way up from the bowels of Omega.

"Survivors of the Deeps," Whiz-Bang nodded finally, just to break the silence, more than anything else. "We're going to be _fucking legends_."

"A great story, comrades," Turgor agreed slowly. "One worthy of song and bard."

"Depends on _who tells_ the story," Malthus cooed from the far side of the lift.

I was already moving when I heard the tone in his voice, blocking the pistol that was coming up towards my head. Cursing, I slammed the hand into the wall that was rushing past us. The Salarian howled as his gun disappeared in a flash of sparks, followed by the hand with a much messier _splat_. My own pistol was in my hand, and I fired at Malthus' knee, letting him collapse as I whirled to find the other two leaders.

I wasn't exactly surprised to see who had won between the other pair, Whiz-Bang probably being naive enough, or still rattled enough from the thing down below, to believe my 'go-up-come-back-down' directive. But Turgor was still gasping from where the Lighting Rod's knife had caught him in lower chest, so he hadn't gone down without a fight, and the wounded Targa Horde lieutenant raised the dead human's SMG in my direction even as I turned.

 _Fuck._

I rolled forward desperately, and a burst went _just_ over my head, one of the shots even sparking off my helmet as my barriers collapsed at such close-quarters gunfire. I _sensed_ more than heard the rest of the shots slam into Malthus, cutting off his strangled cries of pain. I used the pistol like a set of brass knuckles, driving the gun forward into the Batarian's knee like a hammer. Bone cracked, and then I drove my helmet into his as the entire leg buckled. His gun clattered as he went down to the floor. To his credit, he was still scrambling with his own gun, but that was still at the small of his back, costing him crucial micro-seconds. My own pistol barked twice, and then I was on top of him, jamming my gun beneath his helmet, angling my next two shots upwards into the brainpan. The head jerked unnaturally as the rounds bounced off the _inside_ of his helmet and went back to ruin whatever mind he'd had left.

I straightened slowly, turned to put another two rounds in each of the other two _former_ occupants of the lift.

"Well, that actually happened _much later_ than I thought it would," I said aloud, then realized there was nobody around to hear. I holstered the pistol again, and then sat cross-legged on the floor, waiting for the long lift-ride to be over, surrounded by the bodies of my former allies.

 _Fucking Omega_.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Hope you all are enjoying the story so far! If you are, please leave a short review, even if it's as simple as "Good Job" or "I like it." Reviews are the life-blood of a FF writer, and I always enjoy hearing from you!**

 **My thanks to BJ Hanssen and seabo76, for your reviews! My writing is only as good as my readers/reviewers challenge me to make it! **

**My thanks also to Katkiller-V, for the use of his AR-Universe, and his beta-reading skills.**

 **As always, your thoughts/ suggestions/ constructive criticism is always welcome in the reviews, or my PMs.**

 **ROCK ON, my friends!**

 **-Tusken1602**


	19. Act 3: The Black Queen

**Omega's Child**

(Khentu Emrys)

 **Date** : 11-30-2184  
 **Location** : Afterlife, Omega, Terminus Systems

Well, I had to admit: coming up in the middle of the Afterlife District on a lift that was supposed to be inoperable, with three corpses beside me and a shattered orb of questionable origin behind me, had gone much better than I had expected. Most of me had expected to be shot outright, no questions asked, and then for my remaining friends to be sealed away behind me to die in the dark.

Instead... plenty of guns had been pointed in my direction, and they'd entirely ignored my attempts to ask questions, but in the end I'd merely been disarmed and escorted to a tiny windowless room, where I had spent the last several hours.

 _Or is this a cell_? I wondered. The only distinction between the two depended on if the door was locked or not. In the interest of appearing cooperative and calm I had elected to not test it and see.

Of course my lack of desire for escape was helped by the fact that I could pick up snippets and bits of the conversation between the two guards who must have been standing right outside.

Apparently, filtering out the inevitable station gossip and wild space rumors, the facts I had gathered was that Patriarch had apparently taken command of the defense in Aria's absence, and Ganar Yulaz had killed him for it in some kind of showdown between the two in Afterlife. It seemed like Patriarch had grabbed the most accomplished fighters on station to back him up, including the leaders of the Talons, the White Tigers, the Silver Blades, and had even managed to con that gods-damned nut Archangel into showing up.

Not that it had helped him, the guards made it sound like the God-Emperor of the Krogan had killed damn near all of them before he'd met his own demise at the hands one Cieran Kean, of the Silver Blades. _That_ name made me prick up my ears, and try to pick up more details, but they apparently didn't know much more than some insane rumor; Evidently the running theory was that Kean had taken Ganar's warhammer away from him and beat him to death with it.

I tried to reconcile the memory of the formidable-but-not-bulky figure of the human bearing the batarian title I had met more than a year ago with the image of a human _wrestling_ a Krogan's weapon away from him, then killing him with a hammer I knew was probably taller than he was, and dismissed the story as wild Omega gossip. I didn't doubt that he had killed the Krogan, but I would have bet on a _Ra-_ damned ton of explosives and rockets being involved, rather than anything hand-to-hand.

I was almost on the verge of walking over to knock on the door, less to get out and more to try and engage my guards in conversation, when suddenly the door opened, and an Asari strode in. She was _not_ clad in armor, or anything warlike for that matter; just a casual T-shirt and white silk pants. But the face was unmistakable to anyone who had grown up on the streets of Omega.

"Aria…" I blurted as I shot to my feet, stunned at the sight of the warlord of Omega coming to talk to _me._ Ra, I'd expected one of her low-level flunkies at best.

The Black Queen of Omega merely fixed me with a cold stare.

"Shit," I rambled, trying to recover my wits, and remember my Asari protocols. "I mean… I mean…"

"Sit." The voice was ice and steel.

"Yes, ma'am," I answered, and thankfully I had the presence of mind to take the metal chair on the far side of the room, leaving the comfortable plush recliner for Omega's ruler. She strode over and sank down in the chair, with none of the formality one might have expected from a Terminus System warlord.

I tried to find my voice again, but something in the rigid way she sat told me that speaking without being spoken to first would be a horrible idea, and so I kept my mouth shut until she spoke.

"So," she said after a minute or so of looking me up and down, "Take me through again why _a Blood Arrow_ comes up a Lift from the Deeps, with the shards of an orb scattered around him. From the beginning."

Cold fury radiated in the room. This was a woman who had almost lost her home and stronghold, and with it any credibility she had as a principle power in the Terminus Systems. At any moment, she might decide that _murdering_ me here and now might be preferable to listening, or help win her back some street cred with her rank-and-file troops. Or maybe just a pleasant bit of stress relief after what have must been an awful couple of days.

 _OK, boy: carefully_ …

I took a deep breath, and went through the story, staring with Ganar Yulaz's arrival on-station, and our efforts to slow him down in the Warrens and elsewhere. From there it was a quick jump to our fall, our journey through the Deeps, and our meeting with Teyla. I was very careful to leave out meeting up with The Bloody One and the Heir, instead just skipping straight to the Arena and fighting our way to the Lift.

Aria didn't seem phased when I described the mutated and deformed denizens of the Deep. Her eyes narrowed slightly when I mentioned the orb, and Teyla and the others killing each other upon contact.

"How did _you_ survive?" she asked, matter-of-factly.

"Almost didn't," I admitted. "One of my people came in from the hallway and didn't waste time asking questions, he just shot the damn thing."

The Black Queen of Omega gave what I thought was a vague sound of impressed approval.

I then completed my story about the strangely repaired lift, and the predictable-yet-brief firefight that had occurred between me and the others. Then I'd gotten up here, been escorted to this room, and that was everything.

Aria gave a short snort, and then leaned forward slightly. "What do you know of what's going on around the station?"

"I know that Patriarch is dead, as is Yulaz, and between the two of them, they took most of this station down with them," I answered. At her inquisitive look, I inclined my head towards the door. "The guards outside are a bit talkative."

She gave me another long look, and then rose to her feet slowly and stated. "Your territory on Doru is gone. Trying to reclaim it would be… unwise."

I sucked in a breath, and then shook my head. "I'm going to guess that, based upon how successful we were before, that the Blood Pack wiped out whatever was left of the Arrows?"

Aria said nothing but gave the slightest of nods. I felt a pang of loss as I imagined Ptolemy, Isola, Abdul, and Nobu's probable fate, but with an effort of will, I forced the feeling aside.

 _We don't know if that's true. And if it is, there will be time to grieve. Later._

"All Doru holds for you is skeletons and ghosts, and in either case I have given it to someone of... more value to me." She said firmly, but not unkindly. " _You_ can be of more use to me elsewhere, if you live long enough."

I didn't answer immediately, not entirely sure how to respond.

"That Lift poses a direct security threat to Afterlife," she went on when I kept my mouth shut. "The Arena and its living quarters are still standing. It's a strong position and could be held by a small number of determined folk. Likewise, repairing one or two of the berths in the Lower Docks would give me a place to bring things _directly_ to Afterlife, without the whole station knowing about it."

I blinked, choosing to continue to remain silent, and Aria crossed her arms. "Do you have the people to pull this off?"

"I have a strong core," I stated, pulling together the threads of a plan I had been former since running into the Blood Pack shuttle, "around which others will form, if I'm allowed to recruit. This battle will have displaced more of the smaller gangs, and what's more, civilians who just want to stay clear of the constant in-fighting. Who's going to fight us for the _Deeps_?"

Aria cocked her head slightly and ignored my question entirely. "You've already given this a lot of thought."

"Well," I chuckled and gestured to the room around me. "I've had a couple hours to think over my future on this station."

The Black Queen of Omega regarded me with an inscrutable expression for a long moment. It is a very unnerving thing to have someone staring at you, attempting to determine if you are the worth the trouble to keep alive. Eventually, she gave a curt nod, turned, and strode to the door. A gesture saw it open, and her voice rang out in command.

"Gavorn. Moklan." The turian and batarian guards appeared at once, standing in the doorway. ""Escort Mr. Emrys back to the Deep Lift. He's got a lot of work ahead of him."

The two rumbled something affirmative sounding, and she looked over her shoulder to regard me once more.

"I may be sending people your way, Mr. Emrys. Specialists, technicians, along with a few people that may, like yourself, want to be free of the... how did you put it? 'Constant in-fighting'?"

I brought my hand across my chest, and bowed at the waist, slightly.

"As my Queen commands," I stated, switching over to Thessian, "The Blessings of the Goddess go with thee."

But her back was already towards me and the door was slamming shut.

* * *

 **Holy Warrior  
** _(Father Ignatius)_

 **Date:** 12-1-2185

 **Location:** The Grand Arena, The Deeps, Omega

To be entirely honest, I was quite surprised to see Khentu return to us, alive and in one piece. The looks he had given us as he was preparing to leave with the other gang members had been enough to convey that he believed their betrayal was imminent.

While I had thought he more skilled than they, I had still murmured a quite prayer for him all the same. I had not liked our chances if any but he had emerged victorious.

Laila, with what seemed to be her her usual decisiveness, had barked for Chell, the giant mech, and the group of survivors with us to follow her after our nominal leader had departed. Rather than moving to try and clear out the rest of the Arena, she had surprised us by leading everyone _back_ to the compound where we had left the others, and then turning around and escorting the rest of the group back to the Arena.

Once back in place, the Bloody One, as the giant mech was called, was placed on guard duty over the civilians. Chell and the babe stayed behind to ensure that it actually stayed in place and did the job ordered, and the rest of us had set to work securing the Arena and the adjacent Palace as best we could given our exhaustion, resources, and limited numbers.

It would seem, though, that with the destruction of the orb, any surviving denizens of the Deeps had vacated the ancient structure, because while the entire place was searched top to bottom, we didn't encounter any more of them; beast, mutated, or otherwise. God and the Blessed Virgin be thanked, we hadn't encountered any more of the infernal orbs, either.

Instead we merely had discovered the sheer size and scope of the facility, as well as the fact that very little of the systems were in working order.

"The other gangs?" Khentu asked, once he had returned and our hastily-assembled council had been gathered.

"Their leaders died valiantly securing the Arena," Laila replied, giving the answer she had given to any and all who had asked.

"That's one less problem we have to worry about, so long as we all stick to that." Khentu nodded approval and then sighed. "The _larger_ one, though, is what to do about this predicament we find ourselves in."

"I don't think Aria gave this assignment to Khentu out of any real desire to see the Deeps cleaned up," Jesse Jalos answered, "She can still always just blow the lift at any time, and I doubt anyone up there would even know the difference. I'm pretty sure it's more of a way to keep us and our people alive for... possible examination... and to make sure we're isolated and away from everyone else on the station."

Everyone, myself included, shifted uncomfortably at the idea of what 'examination' could mean.

"I... quite agree." I added, following the Drell's train of thought, "I would imagine we will quickly find the lift operable only by Aria's people, and ourselves and everyone else down there stuck in a kind of pseudo-prison state."

"Much like the miners on Zeta Level," nodded Barco. "Poor bastards never get out once they go in."

"Maybe, but I've no doubt that Aria will provide for us within reason," Khentu quickly spoke up, visibly sensing the darker shift to our moods, "and find a way to get us reinforcements; she's given her word for that. But... you're all probably right, and I also don't doubt that she wouldn't allow anyone to leave without extensive checks or plenty of people 'escorting' them."

"It's better than the alternative," Chell rumbled softly, "which is her blowing the lift and stranding us all down here. Again."

Laila stirred, the Turian looking uncomfortable. "So you're saying that all these people down here with us are stuck too?"

"Yep."

Her mandibles twitched. "They're not going to be happy about it."

Khentu shook his head and laid a single finger on his nose. "Only if they discover their captivity."

"What?" came the question from all present, except for myself. I had a fairly good idea as to what his plan would be, and while I did not entirely approve, I wasn't entirely sure there was a better option either.

"We have to make them think that staying down here is _their own_ idea," I stated. "Preferably soon, and preferably with an emphasis."

"And how," the Turian asked, "in the name of seven hells, do you propose to do that?"

"Basically," Khentu answered, "We tell them about the great opportunities they have down here, and what a terrible, broken, bloody mess it is up there."

Laila's eyes narrowed. "You mean lie."

'But when telling the raw, unfiltered truth to frightened ears and hearts causes panic, stampede and massacre, my daughter," I asked, "what's the more grievous sin, I ask you?"

Chell chuckled and turned to face me. "That may be the most practical statement about morality I've ever heard from a priest."

"Gospel of Matthew, Chapter ten, verse sixteen," I replied, " _Behold, I send you forth as sheep in the midst of wolves: be ye therefore wise as serpents, and harmless as doves_."

"Lot of truth to that, I think." Khentu nodded. "So, here's what we're going to do…"

Several hours later, the entire group of survivors was gathered in the main chamber by the Lift. Several crates had appeared from Afterlife, these filled with food, water, and medical supplies... though I and everyone else 'in the know' had noted that no beings accompanied the supplies in the lift. Still, after more than a week on scrapped-together rations and moldy food, it was a welcome change. As the others sat, plates in hand, Khentu leapt atop a stack of crates and called for everyone's attention. Sixty or more pairs of eyes turned towards the young human, waiting expectantly.

"So here's the situation," Khentu began, gesturing around him, "As some of you already know, I've been to the Uppers to take a look around."

The crowd took an unconscious step forward, eager for news. Khentu sighed deeply, placing his hands on his hips.

"Everything is in chaos up there," he said mournfully. "The old boundaries that used to separate the gangs… are gone. Some of the gangs have been wiped out completely, and you can all imagine what that's done. It's mayhem and massacre up there, everyone brawling over what the new lines are going to be, whose turf belongs to who now."

More buzz of conversation ran through the crowd, laced with worry, concern, and growing uncertainty.

"I managed to obtain an audience with the Black Queen herself," Khentu continued, and murmurs of surprise ran through the crowd. "I told her our situation, and we came to an understanding: We've got food and water from the Uppers… as well as medical supplies for them that needs it."

Khentu gestured towards the Lift, quite vaguely, I noticed. "In time, we'll arrange for those that want to get back up to your homes. But _for now_ , the safest place for you and yours, and me and mine, is right here."

On cue, there was a massive humming noise, and the giant globes that hung above the Arena powered on, bathing the ancient structure in warm, yellow light. Awed gasps of surprise came from the crowd, and wide eyes took in the newly-revealed structure. It was a stark yet welcome contrast to the harsh lantern and limited Omni-Tool beam light that had been our constant companion these long shifts.

"We've secured the Arena for now, and the old Palace," Khentu continued, and his tone rose and fell with a trained salesman's pitch. "We'll find space for you and your families. You'll be provided food, water, and anything else you may need."

Then his stance changed, and he began walking through the crowd, helping a figure rise here, clasping a hand on a shoulder there.

"I don't know about you, but I was raised to _work_ for a living, instead sitting around, waiting for my next hand-to-mouth handout."

A murmur of approval and agreement ran through the crowd; these were hard-working folk. They didn't have much, certainly not anymore, but what they had they had worked, fought, and bled for.

"So I don't intend on relying on Aria's _charity_ and _generosity_ in the long-term. And I don't allow _shirkers_ and idlers in my outfit. There's no shortage of work to be done: we've got to repair more power conduits to get more lights working. We've got to get the water mains up and running again and replace the filtration systems. For those of you who don't have technical expertise, there's rubble to clear, and living quarters to build."

Khentu accepted my hand as I pulled him up on the dais, now coming up to stand by Laila and me. He stretched out his hands, gesturing above the crowd.

"As word of this safe-zone gets around the station, we're going to have more people coming in, fleeing the chaos above. Some of them will be honest, hardworking people, but they're not going to have much more than the rags on their back. With every hungry mouth comes a pair of helping hands."

Then he drew his pistol in a theatrical-yet-effective gesture.

"Others… will not be so honest, and there may be more fighting to come. But we will stand by each other, and we'll get through this together." Heads were nodding, and grim determination was coming into the faces around us. Khentu lifted his other hand high, clenched into a fist. "We survived the Deeps, by all the gods, and all the horrors it could throw at us! Who have you heard of surviving such a feat? Who among you remembers the last time a group with women, children, young, old, sick and wounded stared down the worst this station had to offer, and not only survived, but came out on top?"

We are survivors!

We are heroes!

WE. ARE. LEGENDS!"

A ragged cheer came up from the crowd. Hadasi and Drella were beside me, beaming openly at the armored figure now shaking hands, touching foreheads, and other gestures of friendship with several members of the crowd. The juvenile crush they both suffered from was plain to see, but it was easy to understand their fascination.

 _Time to distract them with a task, it seems._

"Barnabas!" I called out. "Adrian!"

Two of the older boys, a young turian and batarian, turned towards me.

"Go with Hadasi and Drella," I stated. "Help them find us a place to bunk in the Palace. Remember, there needs to be room for all of us, and for any more the Lord sends our way."

The two youngsters nodded, eager to for a chance to explore their new and exciting surroundings. The younger children drew closer to me as the four moved off, taking in the cheering crowd around them, and smiling hesitantly. I patted Tatiana's head, smiling reassuringly.

"Are we gonna stay here, then, Father?" she asked.

"For now, child, yes," I nodded. "This is the safest place for us now."

I sent up a silent prayer to all the saints to watch over the child's mother, condemned to indentured servitude so far above us. But I could do nothing for her. All I could do is watch her daughter, and these other charges the Lord had brought into my path.

 _A man's heart deviseth his way: but the Lord directeth his steps._

The verse played over and over in my mind as I glanced around us at the massive structure, trying to take it all in objectively.

"Yes, Lord," I said in a low prayer. "Truly this is the beginning of something great."

* * *

 **Bereft Mother**  
 _(Nakmor Chell)_

 **Date: 12-17-2184**

 **Location: The Arena Palace, The Deeps, Omega**

"He is a leader," I said slowly, watching Khentu helping a group of workers secure chains around one on the larger pieces of rubble. "A warchief, in heart and soul."

The Bloody One shifted slightly behind me before responding in Elder Krogan. I knew for a fact it understood every language that had been spoken to it, but something in its near-rampant programming insisted on _only_ speaking in the archaic language.

"For an Outsider," it rumbled, using a _very_ non-flattering term for 'non-Krogan.'

Khentu stepped back as the crane worked to remove the giant slab, and then noticed us watching. He strode over and looked up at the giant AI-run battle-mech.

"Good morning, Blood!" he called out, as he did everyday. "What are your plans today?"

And the Bloody One gave him the same answer: "I will defend the Heir."

"Before this is all over," Khentu stated, wiping a hand on the back of his neck, "I will need your help, oh, what's the Krogan word for it… your _aosta_?"

The giant _Ancestor-_ class mech drew itself up, racks upon hidden racks of weapons unfolding in a grand display.

"You mean to _challenge_ the Asari witch for lordship of this station?" it rumbled.

"Not exactly," Khentu grimaced slightly. The Human certainly had a knack for languages. I was having to translate less and less of the giant mech's speech nowadays. "But it is not my intention to remain under the boot of the Black Queen forever, either."

The mech turned to look at the tiny babe in my arms, and then back to the human leader.

"I will aid you, Khentu son of Mentu," It answered finally, "for the sake of the Heir Who Will Rule, and the death of Aria. If your aims do not run contrary to my directive, I will allow your continued existence. Perhaps."

"Lovely fellow," Khentu said, watching the mech turn away, bounding to assume its usual sentry post half-way up the Arena, where it could keep watch on the plain beyond the Arena. These days, it was rare to encounter any of the creatures of the Deep, the loud noise of the construction and repair crews of the Arena, Palace, and the Dockyards serving to keep them at a distance.

Which was good, in the sense that it gave us fewer problems to deal with at the moment, though the behavior of the various creatures continued to make my hearts clench from time to time. Such avoidance of light and noise could easily be waved away as little more than animal behavior, but there were times... when I was certain it was something more. That they _watched_ us for their own reasons, lurking in the dark and biding their time. Much of my approval of the Human before me came from his agreement on that matter. No matter that many complained of the duty; he refused to stop keeping a watch on the outer tunnels.

"It is… _unpredictable_ , to say the least," I agreed.

"To say the least," he repeated, and then looked at the tiny bundle in my arms. "He's a cutie... do you have any children? Of your own, I mean?"

"Eight," I answered, and a pang of grief struck me. "All stillborn."

"I'm…" he started, clearly uncomfortable, as most aliens were upon being reminded of what had been done to the Krogan. "I'm sorry."

I nodded in acknowledgement and clutched the bundle tighter.

"Children are too precious among my people for me to allow harm to come to this child, Khentu," I stated slowly. "I… will understand if you would like for us to leave. I can try to arrange some kind of passage off-station. Back to Tuchanka, maybe. It will be safer for all you, with us gone."

"That's the thing," Khentu sighed, running a hand through the mop of fur that was growing from his previously-bald head. "I _need_ Blood to be my backup, with all the new refugees Aria keeps sending down here. I _know_ Blood will most likely back _me_ up, rather than any of these other assholes who might get delusions of grandeur. Some of them are already bitching and muttering where they think I can't hear them. ' _Better to stick with the devil you know_ ,' I think is the proverb from Earth."

"We Krogan have a similar proverb," I nodded. "But The Bloody One will not suffer to be parted from the Heir."

"Exactly," Khen nodded. "So, my current plan then is to have the two of you here as honored guests, and to pass him off as _your_ child, making as few 'Heir' references as possible. How does… _Nakmor_ Rameses sound? It was my grandfather's name."

I smiled softly, looking down at the slumbering babe. He _would_ need a name eventually. And in time, he would need the Rite, and clan and kin to claim. But that would be in time. All in good time.

"That… would be acceptable," I smiled. "But I believe Nakmor Khentu will be the name I choose for him."

"Oh," Khen started, once again at a loss for words. "That… that's… OK, then."

"Hey, lover!" I heard a female voice call. "Look who showed up!"

We both looked up to see Wasilla M'Taza leaning upon her Turian lover, waving a hand at our illustrious leader. Beside her stood a pair of very grungy-looking humans, a boy and an old woman, dirt and care caked onto their expressions.

"Osman!" Khentu roared with pleasure, departing from my side in a rush. "Auntie!"

Before the pair could make any kind of obeisance, they were wrapped up in a fierce embrace, making me chuckle as I lumbered slowly after him.

"Auntie, m'lovely" Khentu said, and I thought I could see tears on his cheeks. _"Wha-gwaan?_ We'uns tot yoo dead-uns, all. _"_

The old woman gave Khentu a kiss on both cheeks, and she was openly weeping as well. "Khentu, I tot us dead-uns too: but den we heird ob a Blood Arra in de Deeps, and me thinken, 'Dat my Khentu, an no mistaak.'"

"Weel, we's gwaan get you settled een, Auntie," Khentu replied, "Yoose awe fambly 'ere, aand welcums ye arra."

I could only vaguely follow the conversation, but from what I could understand Osman El Sadat and 'Auntie' were Blood Arrow survivors from back up on Doru. Then the two newcomers waved more forward, and there were more hugs and reunions all around.

"Khentu Emrys," one of them said, going to her knees before him, "We've come to fight and to die for you."

"Stand up, Jasmine," Khentu sighed, "I'm not a Jackal, for _Ra's_ sake."

But Jasmine merely bent her head, and placed both of her hands between Khentu's own.

"Amun-Ra's light shine upon the _Pharaoh_ , and illuminate his path to our victory," she said slowly. These were not the words of ceremony, or a ritual gone through for it's own sake. This was a fervent prayer from a true believer.

Khentu looked around at the number of kneeling survivors, and his voice broke as he choked out the words, so low I could barely hear them:

"And may those paths lead you to fertile pastures, and good homes and futures for your children, and your children's children."

Then he looked around at the kneeling circle.

"Welcome home, family. Now, come, enough with all this formal shit, there's work to be done!"

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **A new chapter begins for Khentu Emrys and the surviving members of his party. I only have one more chapter planned for this story, but I'm thankful for everyone who has read and reviewed thus far!**

 **My thanks also to Katkiller-V, for the use of his AR-Universe, and his beta-reading skills.**

 **As always, your thoughts/ suggestions/ constructive criticism are always welcome in the reviews, or my PMs.**

 **ROCK ON, my friends!**

 **-Tusken1602**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

A Plexx - I liked Teyla too, actually. But such is life on Omega...

Guest, Draco Oblivion - Yes; Khentu knew that the other gang leaders would betray him once "safety" had been reached. The Lift was just a way to ensure that nobody _else_ died when they tried something. In the long run, people are most likely to do what serves themselves best. If that means cooperating for now, so be it. If that means stabbing someone in the back without remorse, then so be it.

BJ Hanssen - It certainly throws a spanner in Khentu's plans, eh?

Tyl3rwhy - Thanks! I appreciate it!

seabo76 - The mech was a fun character to add, the rampant AI just icing on the cake. And leave it to the Levis to throw an orb into perfectly-laid plans.

EE-RAH!


	20. Interlude: The Queen's Party

**Broken Vessel  
** _(Laila Adonis)_

 **Date: 12-31-2184**

 **Location: The Grand Arena, The Deeps, Omega**

"Are you ready, Khen?"

Khen made one last check of his own, and then nodded. "Let's do it."

"I still say this is a bad idea," I stated, sighing with resignation all the same.

"Hey," Khentu stated. "If it doesn't work, you can say, 'I told you so.'"

"If it doesn't work, you'll be dead," I retorted.

"Then you can gloat over my corpse," he grinned back. "Trust me, it'll be just as satisfying."

It rather wouldn't be, considering that the rest of us would all be dead along with him, but I knew the jerk well enough to know I wasn't going to talk him out of this.

"Everyone stand clear!" I called. If people were going to die because of this act of monumental stupidity, I was going to keep the body count down.

The explosive taken from the Blood Pack shuttle's last remaining missile sat in the middle of the cold, dark structure that at one time had been the ancient Foundry of Patriarch's time. The reactor not only served to power the forges that lined the building next to it, but also served as a power source independent from the Afterlife-controlled main grid, which was the only reason why I had agreed to this crazy idea in the first place.

"Fire in the hole!" Khentu yelled, and I rolled my eyes at the useless theatricality of it all.

Barco hit the switch, and there was a muffled _thump_ as the warhead detonated, and then another one as the shockwave hit the reinforced doors a half-second later. For one hideous moment, I thought they would give way and Chell's and my worst fears would be realized. But the ancient doors held, holding the swirling maelstrom of fire at bay. The jerry-rigged explosive had done its work of restarting the chain reaction... and done it annoyingly perfectly. I didn't need to look to see Khentu's expression.

"Eat shit and die, Emrys," I grunted, turning away.

"What? No 'sorry'?" Khentu gloated. "No 'I never should have doubted you, Khentu?'"

"One of these days, Khen," I hissed, this time turning around to stab a talon in his direction. "the dice will _not_ roll in your favor. And on that day, I will not be there to gloat over your body, because I'll be dead next to you."

My human lover started slightly, and started to say something, but then our Asari lover interrupted us.

"Khentu," Wasilla giggled, "An answer just came down from the Uppers."

"What was it?" Khen asked.

Her answer was preceded by another giggle. "I think it's easier if I just show you."

Khen shot me another glance, and I nodded. His request for a trip up to Afterlife was another factor in our plan to carve a future out of these Deeps. Not quite as important of one as getting the reactor going again, but something that would greatly help if he could pull it off.

"I'll go check with Barco," I reassured him.

Khentu gave me a nod, and then followed Waz back towards the main Lifts.

"Still running your weird threesome thing with the fish and ape?" Barco grinned, appearing next to me. "How's that business?"

"None of yours," I retorted, but I didn't really have an answer to give him. We hadn't sat down and talked about it or anything. It just sort of… _happened_ from time to time. I'd find myself in her bed, or she'd find herself in his. Not always sexual, sometimes it'd be just Khentu and I, laying there, holding one another; just grateful to still be alive after all the shit we'd been through.

"This way then," Barco said, bringing me back from thought and memory. "Orem says he has something for us."

"You said he was your cousin, right?" I asked.

"Distant cousin," Barco shrugged. "Close enough for me to trust him with this job, but not close enough for me to loan him money to get off-station like he wanted."

I chuckled with him and followed into the long row of work benches, where Patriarch's smiths would make the Krogan warlord's weapons. Now that I gave him a long look, the Salarian sitting in the nearest one _did_ have a strong resemblance to Barco, even though the Salarian was adamant that 'that was not how Salarian families worked.'

"Hello, Orem," I greeted. "Barco said you had something?"

The younger alien looked up from the bench before removing a pair of goggles magnifying his eyes many times over.

"Oh yes," he nodded, and placed a short handheld device on the table. At a casual glance, it might have been mistaken for a pistol, except for the large spool of wire mounted at the back.

"This here is a 94G Cutter," Orem explained," It's a tool used in mining operations. I mean, it _was_ , two hundred years ago. Don't know where in the ancestors' names you found some still working."

I grinned noncommittally. The truth was that we had found _dozens_ of crates filled with them in the still-sealed warehouses of the Palace. I supposed they dated from when this had been the primary docking level, with mining equipment being dropped off here before being taken up to the actual asteroid, and the tools had been abandoned when the Deeps were.

"It uses an internal power source, is compact/light enough to be easily portable, and can be even used one-handed, due to its light weight. You see the spool here?" Orem asked. "This is nanofilament thread. It's fed into the front like so, and the power core supercharges it, and then you can use it to cut through… whatever you need. Well, through softer minerals, anyway."

He clicked the button on the side, and the thin wire glowed in an 'X' across the front of the gun, making it plain to see how it could you could use it in a mine at least.

"Like a heated knife," I nodded, trying to understand.

"Exactly. The newer models these days have internal plasma generators. That's why these were phased out; miners didn't have carry replacement spools with them anymore, and the plasma is a lot more adjustable for when it comes to working with different materials."

"Cut to the chase, Orem," Barco sighed. "You're not _selling_ the damn things to us, you're trying to show us how you can be useful around here."

Orem cleared his throat and nodded nervously.

"Well," he continued, "With this one here, I've removed the dampeners, readjusted the feed of the power coils, and installed a secondary trigger mechanism here."

He placed a second tool next to the first one. At a casual glance, I couldn't see any difference, beside the secondary trigger mechanism he mentioned.

"Ok," I nodded slowly, "what does that do?"

"Well, the palm pad here charges the filament," he said, demonstrating as the 'X' lit up again on the mining tool. This time, however, the glow was _much_ brighter, and the hum was much more sinister and dangerous sounding.

"Super-charge them like so," he said, "and then activate the secondary trigger."

The glowing X shot out, spinning wildly like an old-fashioned _bolo_ that the ranchers on Invictus used to round up troublesome _bulla-_ calves. It wrapped around the dummy Orem had placed about twenty yards distant, coiling around the neck for an instant before the head dropped off, red flames licking the burlap where the coils had touched it.

 _"Spirits_ ," I muttered.

"Decapitates anything closer than twenty yards," Orem continued excitedly. "Past that, and it's like getting a solid punch to the gut that takes down shields and barriers, not to mention slowly melting any armor that it encounters."

"Hopefully wont' have too many of those," Barco replied, but he had an approving expression on his face. "None of the… _creatures_ we've encountered down here have worn any armor. I'm guessing the weapon can fire only as long as that giant spool on the back lasts?"

"Umm, yes," Orem confirmed. "That is a limiting factor for the weapon, granted, along with the short range, and I haven't done any durability tests yet. But there's whole storerooms of the stuff rusting away in the Upper Levels, or we can buy more from off-station. A lot of old mining firms, or the banks who've repossessed them, are practically trying to find places to _give_ the stuff away. Like I said, nobody uses it anymore."

"Orem," I stated slowly, looking at the decapitated dummy target, now fully on fire. "You've got the job. This is a solid proof-of-concept, if somewhat crude. But Barco… see if we can cut down on the sheer _ungainliness_ of the thing before we take this to Khentu. Then we'll start making the modifications to the rest of the weapons."

"Maybe add a proper stock to the weapon, SMG-like?" Barco suggested. "We could adjust the spool to feed off the inside of the _that_ , and then…"

I left the cousins debating the next round of modifications.

* * *

 **Omega's Child  
** _(Khentu Emrys)_

 **Date: 1-16-2185  
Location: Afterlife, Omega, The Terminus**

I hunched my shoulders painfully, the strange tuxedo still sitting awkwardly on me. Frankly, I hadn't had _any_ idea as to why Aria had accepted my request, or why the strange garment had accompanied the written permission to ascend the Deep Lifts into Afterlife itself. Looking around me, I began to expect it was all in good sport, so she could laugh at the Omega bumpkin doing his best to blend in and hide among the nobility of the Terminus Systems. Everywhere I looked, I saw another warlord and their entourage enjoying her little 'Hooray-We-Won-the-Fucking-War' party. Xenthan colonels bumped elbows with officers wearing the livery of the Steel King, and Eclipse members were partying alongside Cessa's people.

And then there was _me_ , trying my best to work my way through the crowd to find the _one_ person I needed to talk to, and have a very _un-_ partylike conversation with. Thankfully the same atmosphere that made me feel awkward made sure few people seemed to notice me either way, though I was vaguely surprised that I wasn't being followed. Well, there had been no _overt_ escort from the Lifts, but just because I hadn't noticed them didn't mean they weren't there. I had no delusions of spy-craft or counter-intelligence work.

I could only be vaguely sure I wasn't being followed, but given the sheer number of cameras and microphones that littered the place, that probably was a moot point anyway.

In either case, the few Silver Blades who had been pointed out to me had laughed and gestured in this vague direction but were either too drunk or too preoccupied to give me more details. I _did_ see his Trophy Taker sitting with a group of her people, so I knew I was probably headed the right direction. It was in fact by sheer luck that I found the man I was looking for: trying to get away from the sheer press of the crowd, I had ducked into a side hallway, if only to get my bearings. It was then that I had heard a familiar voice and followed it to its origin.

"Now stop delaying and find us a bloody room," had been the murmur I'd picked up, but when I rounded the corner, the Human with a batarian title was alone, staring after someone who had no doubt just left the short hallway to find said room. I cleared my throat softly and stepped forward.

" _The Pillars Guide and Keep you, Reyja'krem_ ," I stated in my best Batarian.

The figure immediately stiffened and turned towards me with all the irritation of a man who had just been interrupted in his romantic pursuits. The last time we'd met he'd been in armor, though today he wore a dark uniform beneath some kind of armored coat that fell to his ankles. The rest of him wasn't quite what I expected either; he had the pale skin of a spacer, brown hair so long he'd had to tie it back in a ponytail that fell well below his shoulders, and a short beard that actually had little braided sections on either side of his mouth.

"My name is Khentu Emrys. You probably don't remember," I continued, "but we met once before: during Garm's Attack on the station, back in…"

"Doru," He stated crisply, his accent a little... odd. It was cool and clipped, like he was an Eclipse Asari trying to speak the language rather than the more slow and rolling Highborn accent I'd anticipated. "You're the Blood Arrow leader."

I bowed my head and inclined it to the left in what I thought was a polite amount of deference. Based upon the almost amused look he gave me, I had been correct.

"Your Batarian has improved, but your accent is still pretty strong," he stated, crossing his arms.

"I've had good teachers," I nodded again, electing against commenting on his own accent in favor of cutting straight to business. This was, after all, already a monstrous imposition on my part, and while he hadn't told me to fuck off I didn't doubt that he would if I drew this out with small talk.

 _Might as well drown in an ocean as in a puddle_.

"I understand you've recently been given territory in Doru," I stated, trying to keep my tone light and jovial.

"Not exactly a secret," he shrugged, and then he paused and frowned, as if remembering something. "That was _your_ former territory," he stated, and the voice had changed. He didn't shift his stance, but his attention was now _fully_ upon me, coiled, waiting for me to strike. Made sense, I supposed. If I were in his shoes, I would assume I had come to kill me, too.

"I have no intention of going against Aria's word, and no desire to return to Doru," I stated simply, holding a hand palm-outwards in a gesture of reassurance. "Too many ghosts haunting me on those streets."

He gave me a nod, but noticeably did _not_ relax, his pale green eyes narrowed as he regarded me.

"In fact, I'm here with a business proposition for you."

Now there was a barely-concealed sneer on the proud face. "A... business proposition. From you."

"Given Aria's propensity for rewarding good work with more work," I said, "and the state of the place when the Krogan drove us out of there, I'm guessing Doru is mostly a ruined wreck of a district."

He didn't reply, except with a half-shoulder roll of an Asari shrug.

"Aria's given me the Deeps to control and clean up," I stated slowly. Th _at_ earned me an eyebrow lift and a slight head-tilt to the right. "Oh, yeah," I nodded, "It's as fun as it sounds. Point is, I've got the main forges from Patriarch's era up and running again. If you're going to rebuild Doru to its former glory, you're gonna need building materials, and to clear away the rubble and wreckage that no doubt litter your streets."

The arms slowly relaxed and lowered, the man folding them behind his back. "What exactly are you proposing?"

"Send the wreckage and scrap down to the Deep Lifts to us," I answered. "My lot will melt it down and send quality steel and iron ingots back up for you to use to rebuild your territory. Otherwise, you'll have to waste millions of credits bringing it in from off-station."

His expression gave me nothing to work with. "And in return?"

"I've heard that the SBC's armor and weapons are second to none," I stated, and my head went to the left again in the Batarian gesture of deference.

"You certainly don't lack for a quad," Kean snorted in reply, "I'll give you that. And why, _gangster_ , should I give weapons and armor to the man whose territory I've effectively stolen?"

"I've never received any complaints in the balls department," I replied. "As for the weapons, again I'll reiterate, I have no desire or intention to try and defy Aria's orders, or to punish you for accepting anything she gave you."

I sighed, and then went on. He struck me as a man who respected brutal honesty above petty politics and formalities, so I obliged.

"Frankly," I said with a shrug of my own, "she scares the hells out of me, and you do too. If I could, I'd get on the first trawler out of this miserable hunk of space rock. But I can't. I have people dependent upon me: old, young, sick, kids, and regular folk. It's my responsibility to look after them and pursue their highest good. I think there's a Batarian saying: _Responsibility is a stronger chain than bondage_?"

For the first time since I had approached him, Kean relaxed, ever-so-slightly. But before he could reply, a feminine voice cut in from the hallway.

"Cieran?" the voice chided, "What's keeping... you."

The question cut off as the tallest and largest Asari I had ever seen entered the room. She was dressed in a uniform similar to Kean's, though I noted that it was _much_ more flattering to her figure, and minus the long leather overcoat. She instantly went rigid at the sight of me, however, and her eyes flicked over to take their cue from the Human _Reyja'krem_.

"Illyan," he stated slowly, waving her over, "I'd like you to meet Khentu Emrys, the former owner of our territory on Doru, or at least some of it."

The giantess of an Asari strode over, giving me an excellent view of _how_ tall she was. _Amun-Ra_ , I wasn't exactly short, but I barely came up to her tits, and she looked like she could bench me without breaking a sweat.

"Charmed, milady," I stated, switching to Thessian, and was rewarded with an amused look and a slight nod.

"He's also our newest client," Kean stated, giving me a slight bow. I blinked, then quickly returned it, careful to go deeper than he had.

The Asari, Illyan apparently, chided him though her voice was amused. "I leave you alone for _three minutes_ , and you start talking business at a party."

"The fault was entirely mine, madam," I interjected. "I had to wait until such a beautiful and charming creature left his side. Otherwise, I'm sure nothing could have torn his attention from you."

"Oh, _he's polite_ ," the Asari giggled, and then added in Batarian, "And not bad-looking, either..."

"No," Kean said, answering the implied inquiry, "and by the way, his Batarian is almost as good as his Thessian."

The eyes of the Asari cast back towards me, and I felt myself blush under their frank gaze.

"Very flattered, I assure you," I smiled back, "But I am… committed elsewhere."

Kean actually gave me a nod in return, and then brought up his Omni-Tool. "We're still in the early stages, but I'll have one of my people contact you soon about arranging quantities and payment."

I grinned unabashed as the Extranet addresses were exchanged. Of high politics and Terminus Wars I admittedly knew very little, bordering on nothing. But 'quantities and payments' were simply other words for 'haggling,' and that I knew very well.

I bowed at the waist this time, inclining my head towards the two Blades.

"I bid you both a profitable day," I said in Batarian again, and then turned and left the two to their no-doubt _very enjoyable_ evening.

* * *

 **Chosen Heir  
** _(Ptolemy Emrys)_

 **Date: 1-16-2185  
Location: Fumi District Docks, Omega**

 _Vengeance._

I had spent the last several weeks in a mental fog, it seemed, not counting the several days that I had spent in a coma after over-clocking my biotic amp in the final moments of the battle. I had come to in a makeshift shelter in the Fumi District, with Abdul to tell me exactly how monumentally our final charge had failed. In fact, as far as he knew, the only survivors had been himself and the small group of Jackals who had dragged my unconscious body off the battlefield. They'd been among the last to get out of Doru to the relative safety of Fumi, before the battle lines had truly been drawn and the true war begun.

They had made one attempt to return home after the battle, to see what was left of Little Egypt, and lost several of their number in the attempt. In the weeks since that time, we had basically been _hiding_ from the Consortium, Brotherhood, and other gangs who would have been all too willing to finish the task of wiping out the Blood Arrows. Now, Abdul, Quan, and a handful of additional Arrows who we had managed to find and collect squatted on the end of the Fumi Docks, booking passage for us off the station.

 _The Royal Carriage_ was an ancient spice trawler, bound for Tortuga in the Nemean Abyss. The planet was far beyond the reaches of even the Terminus Warlords, except for Aria's seemingly infinite grasp, and maybe Cessa the Blade, who maintained a nominal presence in the system; just enough to ensure the regular 'protection' payments continued to come uninterrupted.

Every ounce of my heart rebelled against the mental image of running away from Omega like a whipped cur, but what choice did we have? Even after we had bled, died, and delayed the Blood Pack's advance through Doru, at the cost of our kin and homes, our territory given away by the blue whore to some _batarian_ outsider. More than any of the gangs on this station, _we_ had been the ones to suffer the most, the ones who had fought to the last man and woman to try and merely _stall_ the Krogan. And the Black Queen had rewarded our fealty by giving us destitution, by taking our home, by ignoring all of Abdul's efforts to obtain an audience with her.

Now... now our home was being carved up by a bunch of squints. What areas Aria had not gifted her new pets had been seized by the Consortium, the slavers and pirates wasting no time in slaughtering any surviving Arrow they found. The memories of what Abdul and the others had seen made me snarl again as I imagined a fucking _four-eye_ sitting in the Pyramid, standing over the stiff corpse of my _father_.

Fists clenched at my side in remembrance as the thoughts carried me on, to everything I had lost.

 _Isola_ , my wife.

 _Mentu_ , my father.

 _Khentu_ , my brother.

At this moment, my family lay dead and unburied _somewhere_ on Omega. My entire world had come crashing down in a single afternoon, thanks to a stupid feud between a Krogan and an Asari.

 _Unburied, but not unremembered,_ I silently vowed.

"This is not a defeat," I stated softly to the group that still huddled loyally around me, for reasons all their own: Quan and the few Jackals left alive believed I was _a god_ in human form. Others perhaps because they simply had no other place to go, no desire to try and return to homes now ruled by outsiders. For Abdul, at least, I knew it was because I was the closest thing he would ever likely have to a family. _That_ thought prompted another that reminded me that he now was the only family I had left.

On Omega, at least.

 _No_.

 _Leave Tess and the child out of this_ , my mind flogged me. _After all, what kind of future could I offer them now? Penniless, homeless, and starving on Omega? Khentu was right... honor his memory by remembering that he was right._

" _No_ , I said aloud, "We will return."

Grim nods met my simple declaration.

"We will reclaim Egypt," I vowed. "and we will show those who _dare_ to defile our holy places and _blaspheme_ our gods with their very _presence_ …" Hisses of anger met my words, and hands gripped weapons once more. "… that the Blood Arrows are far from dead, or gone."

"Good speech," Abdul stated later as we sat on the ship, patting me on the shoulder.

"I meant every word of it," I answered.

"I know that," he replied, handing me a bowl of… _something_ vaguely warm. His normally light and jovial tones gone, replaced by an exhausted flatness that made him hardly seem like himself. "And so do the men. Otherwise, they wouldn't have followed you this far."

He regarded me sharply as I mutely downed mouthfuls of the soup. "So what is the plan, _Pharaoh_?"

If anyone else had called me that, I would have assumed he was mocking me, and likely killed him for it. But with Abdul, I saw in his eyes that he actually _meant_ the title and question sincerely.

"We'll get work on Tortuga," I answered. "Mercenary work, earn some money. War might be over but there's always need for fighters in the Terminus. Recruit where we can, and return in strength. By then, the station will have most likely gone back to normal, and that blue whore won't be bothered about another gang war on her station."

Abdul nodded for a moment, and then cocked his head sideways. "If I may offer… an alternative?"

At my questioning look, he reached into his pocket, and pulled out a scrap of paper. On it was written a long combination of letters and numbers.

"This is an Extranet address Nasser gave me," he explained quickly, "along with instructions: Codewords, pass phrases, the like. Said I was only to use if circumstances occurred that necessitated me having to leave Omega."

"Whose address is it?" I asked, staring at the paper in my hand.

"His benefactors on Earth," Abdul shrugged. "Whoever they may be."

I tensed. Of course _I_ knew who they were: _Cerberus_. But I only obtained that information during the course of preparing to _overthrow_ Abdul's late lover. Not to mention obtained it by shooting said Cerberus operative in the head.

 _But he doesn't know that_ , I thought grimly, _And neither does Cerberus._

I hesitated, mulling the problem over in my mind. Reaching out to outsiders had resulted in Nasser being manipulated into becoming their _pawn_. That had led to his losing the respect and loyalty of his kin and men, which in turn had ultimately resulted in his untimely death.

But, as Amun-Ra is my witness, if fox-headed _Set_ appeared before me now with an offer of help, I would take it, if it meant getting my vengeance upon those who had wronged me and mine.

"As soon as we get to Tortuga, do what you can to contact them," I said slowly, handing him the scrap of paper back. "We'll see what potential lies there, if any."

He took it between both hands, and then made the Blood Arrow salute.

"As the Pharaoh commands," he stated respectfully, and then strode away to start up a conversation with some of the more morose-looking members of our party.

I stared out the wide window than ran along the side of the passenger trawler. Omega, once my entire world and existence, slowly shrank and disappeared off the port side. There were no tears like I thought there would be, seeing my _home_ disappearing in the distance, no twinges of guilt, sorrow, or even fear. Instead, there was a burning fire of anger that seethed into my belly. I closed my eyes and my fists, channeling the raw emotion into hard resolve. My fists were glowing a blue that matched the FTL tunnel the relay had propelled us into, by the time I opened my eyes again.

"I. Will. Return."

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **WOW. Ok, then. I was _not_ expecting the sheer number of people to PM me and ask to keep this story going. I had envisioned this as a kinda open-ended epilogue upon which to end this particular story ("And Life on Omega goes on..." type ending). **

**But I've always said one thing about my stories: as long as people keep reading/reviewing, I'll keep writing.** **It may be a bit before I can craft another storyline that still fits with Katkiller-V's AR-world of ME, but I'll do it as fast as I can!** **My other cardinal rule is that I refuse to post something "Just to post something." You guys are the best, and I'll do my best to deliver!**

 **My thanks to Katkiller-V, for the use of his AR-Universe, and his beta-reading skills.**

 **As always, your thoughts/ suggestions/ constructive criticism are always welcome in the reviews, or my PMs.**

 **ROCK ON, my friends!**

 **-Tusken1602**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

A Plexx - Yep, that's Aria for you: rewarding a job well done with more hard work to do. In Kean's case, it's rebuilding one of the richest districts on Omega. In Khentu's case, it's reclaiming the _worst_ district on Omega.

BJ Hanssen - Will do, my friend! I will be adding onto THIS story, so you don't have to worry about finding and following another story on FF.

Guest - I'm really enjoying Ignatius' character as well! I honestly look forward to discovering more about him. Which may sound strange as an author, but it's really the truth: I get the rough idea of the people, and then work on fleshing them out and giving them a backstory and a history, as a way to fit _into_ the world. Glad you liked it, hope you'll keep reading!

EE-RAH!


	21. Act 4: A New Home

**Holy Warrior**

 _(Father Ignatius)_

 **Date: 1-21-2185  
** **Location: The Arena Palace, The Deeps, Omega**

There were moments when I almost felt like I was back with the 10th Street Reds. My cassock had been abandoned in favor of a suit of light armor, though I had, perhaps my fellows on Earth would have said cheekily, painted the neck collar of the armor white to match my priestly one.

The past several weeks, I had been attempting to help Khentu run the logistics for the Legends. The new gang name had come from Khentu's inspirational speech, and had occurring almost organically, rather than any official decision on the leadership's part.

Logistically, this past month had been a near nightmare. There were members of no fewer than _eight_ gangs who had all come together on this journey across the Deeps. And our 'large' group of eighty-odd survivors had exploded. By now, there were more than six _hundred_ people now living in the Arena, and the Palace next to it, and we had only begun to scratch the surface in the living space available. All in all, we estimated that there was going to be room for two or three _thousand_ in the two structures, before we would need to expand further.

Though clearing those buildings wasn't our actual focus; we were working in constant, rotating crews to repair the three nearest berths of the long-abandoned Deep Docks.

"I've got the reports here, Father," Hadasi stated, typing on a pad in her hand. I had to admit, she and her sister had surprised everyone, including themselves I think, with their natural administrative talents. They had thrown themselves into the Herculean task as my main assistants. Of course their youth still showed in their routine attempts to amuse themselves by attempting to switch identities in an effort to confuse everyone else.

"Any significant changes I should know about?" I asked. Thus far, I was the only non-asari who had always managed to keep the two of them straight, even when they went so far as to wear each other's clothes.

"Not really," she shook her head. "Barco thinks we can get another 15% on the power generator, which should let the hydroponics labs get one more bay going."

"Excellent," I nodded. "God willing, we should be able to add some fresh vegetables into everyone's diet."

"That will be a welcome change," she grinned, no doubt at the prospect of a salad, an idea I had to confess _I_ certainly found appealing also.

We came around the corner to find two guards in armor identical to ours, the black and red armor offset by the golden scroll symbol on the shoulder pieces.

"Sorry, Father," one of them said, raising a hand, "You'll have to wait here until-"

" _Have you taken leave of your senses!?"_

I winced as Khen's yell filled the hall through the closed door of his office. "Jehu's still in there with him I take it, Benjamin?" I asked.

Ben nodded. The boy had been to Mass a few times, but that had more to do with the girl he was courting, I suspected. Nevertheless, it was a way for me to get to know more of the people on our quickly-booming city, and my congregation grew every week it seemed.

Khentu Emrys' voice was plain to hear as he continued dressing down the unfortunate subordinate.

"You are so supposed to be _working_ , damn it, not chasing after girls who don't want to be caught!" he was saying. "You've been in charge of that work gang for three weeks now, and you've _fuck all_ to show for it."

There was a much-more muted mumbling noise as Jehu attempted to give some sort of explanation, or rather, as it sounded, an excuse.

"No!" Khentu replied flatly to the unheard request. "I'm not going to pull Jesse and his team to help you!"

More mumbling followed, still not clear enough to be heard.

"Because they're busy patrolling the perimeter, making sure those gods-damned creatures don't come over the wall and _eat_ us in our sleep!" Khentu retorted. "Or have you forgotten seeing our patrol taken apart right in front of us?"

More mumbling could be heard, but I thought this time I detected a change in pitch. Khentu's voice softened as well, though his baritone voice carried much further than the Batarian's:

"Look, Jehu; you've been with me ever since Doru, and the Fall. We walked across the fucking Deeps together, for _Ra's_ sake," he was saying, and there was a kindness now in his voice. "Tell me what's going on, and I'll help you. Tell me what you need, and I'll do my damned best to get it for you. But I'm _not_ going to start pulling collars on people just because we got here first, and they second. The second we do that, the flow of refugees will stop, and we'll be crawling back to Aria for more handouts, and she'd be a damned fool to give us any more than she already has. Then it'll be our people going back to _starving_ in the Deeps. You remember what it was like to be _starving_ , right? That's why I thought you could be trusted with this detail. Or was I wrong?"

"No, Lord," Jehu stated, speaking loud enough to be heard by us for the first time. "You were not wrong. I will _lead_ by example, and bring about results, I swear it."

"I know you will, my friend," Khen replied. "Now, send in Father Ignatius when you head out, will you? Gods keep you."

There was a sound like the Batarian slamming a fist against his breastplate in salute, and then the door opened. Jehu ul Cokat inclined his head respectfully as he saw me, and I made the sign of the cross in reply.

" _Pax vobiscum,_ my son," I greeted. "Peace be with you."

"A profitable day to you as well, Father," he nodded. "He's waiting for you."

I moved past him to enter the office of Khentu Emrys, Lord of the Legends. Datapads lay scattered across the desk, though the fact that they seemed to be in three rough groups showed that Laila had been here within the past few hours.

Khentu, on the other hand, was rubbing at his eyes as I closed the door behind us.

"He'll rise to the occasion," I reassured, "Jehu has a good head on his shoulders."

"When he doesn't let his _dick_ do the thinking for him," Hadasi added, more critically.

"He's a good kid," Khentu nodded agreement. "In a perfect world, I'd keep him in command of a patrol squad for another six months before giving him anything bigger. But… this is the Deeps, just too much to do and not enough leadership." He shrugged, and then his face grew thoughtful again. "Is that the finance report?"

"Everything seems to be going rather well," I nodded, as Hadasi turned her pad over, showing Khen the highlighted sections. "The ration chits do seem to be doing the trick. At least until we get more specie down here for ourselves."

In the first few days of the Legends, we had operated on a crude barter system, mixed with literal IOU's on the gang's part. Later, we had started to make chits out punched steel, marked with a distinctive pattern. These were given to the workers, and could be exchanged for food, clothing, or other necessities. It was simple, but there was also the added morale boost that came with the feeling of being _paid_ for work and _buying_ items to provide for your family. In no time at all, of course, counterfeit chits began to appear, whereupon Khentu and I had tracked down the counterfeiter… and offered him a job. He now worked in our "Treasury," adapting our custom currency to counter people like himself.

"I'm hoping that, as more people come in, we can slowly move back to standard credit chits and digital currency," I stated as Khentu finished the report, and shook his head.

"Most people on Omega don't have a lot of faith in digital currency," he replied. "Not below Afterlife District, anyway."

"The number of people coming in via the Lifts has been steady," Hadasi reported. "Slow, but steady."

"Well," I chuckled, "We are going against two hundred years of rumor, fear, and legends."

"Hey," Khentu chided. "We're the Legends, now."

"I still don't get why we didn't just restart the Blood Arrows here," Hadasi stated, "It's not like there's another group on Doru to get confused with…"

She stopped as both Khentu and I shot her a look, coupled with my own gentle nudge to her shin. Reminding Khentu of his family's deaths wasn't a great course of action at the best of times, much less now.

"Oh, Goddess," she gasped, mortified, "I didn't… I didn't mean…"

"It's alright," Khentu said, holding up a hand. "And it's _because_ there are no more Blood Arrows on Doru that we made the decision to change the name. I think it's a smarter move than trying to restart in the deeps, because with the old gang name comes old grudges. Plus, forcing the Blood Arrow legacy to continue somewhere else is almost disrespectful to their memory; like keeping an elderly family member on a ventilator, long past the time the soul has left the body. Sometimes… sometimes…"

"Sometimes it is best to put some spirits to rest, my son," I finished slowly.

"Yeah," Khen nodded, "'Let the Blood Arrows die with Doru', you know?"

"KHENTU EMRYS!"

All three of us whirled at the shout, and Khentu moved to one side of the door, while Hadasi and I went to the other. Khen gave a countdown, and then moved through the door with us following, all of our weapons drawn.

The two guards outside had their rifles at the ready, but were clearly unsure of what exactly to do. Approaching them, down the long hallway, was a Batarian, surrounded by a group of followers. He was clad in horribly filthy rags, but the wide, black scar on his head was enough to identify him: Malaki ul Wassitok had been one of the staunchest opponents to Khentu's leadership ever since we had first taken control of the Arena. Or at least, one of the most vocal about his displeasure at following a human ruler. As he wasn't a member of any gang, or had any following to speak of, we had ignored most of the complaining and groaning as facts that came with the territory.

Apparently, the _ex-_ priest, the brand mark on his forehead clearly marking where his own religion had stripped him of his religious title, had elected to gamble with what little following he had. Reaching over a shoulder, he drew two long blades. The Batarians called them "sabers," though on Earth, they would have probably been called 'machetes.' One of these weapons was tossed forward, clattering on the ground in front of Khentu.

"HEAR ME, citizens!" called the priest, "Harken and bear witness!"

Heads began to swivel our direction on the already-crowded Promenade, and the beginnings of an audience began to form. Seemingly encouraged by this, he turned back and thrust a bony finger in our direction, the long nail dirty and unkempt.

"Khentu Emrys," he repeated, "In the name of the people whom you have misled, I CHALLENGE YOU for lordship of the Deeps! I am the People's Choice, and their Chosen Instrument!"

I would have been very surprised if "The People" accounted for anyone other than the ten or twelve Batarians behind him, all of them as ragged as he was.

"On my challenge," Malaki was continuing, "we shall meet blade-to-blade on this chosen ground, to settle by the ancient laws of combat, for good and all, whose will shall hold sway…"

The gunshot cut off the rest of his loud declaration to the crowd. The 'Chosen Instrument of the People' toppled, the right side of his face a bloody ruin. Khentu gestured with the pistol to the rest of his followers.

"Any more of you care to take up his challenge?" he asked, switching over the Batarians' own language.

Apparently, no one did.

"Then I'm going to say this once, and for your sake, I'll make this very simple," Khentu stated, holstering his firearm. "This is not a democracy. It's a dictatorship. A benevolent dictatorship, but a dictatorship nonetheless. I don't give a _fuck_ about ancient laws of combat, or honored rituals of power. If any son of a _bekwa_ here wants to rule, they are welcome to come and find me. But bringing a fucking _knife_ to a gunfight is not my bloody problem."

The rag-tag group shifted uncomfortably, staring at the knives in their belts and the rifles in all the rest of our hands. But Khentu made a gesture, and the weapons were lowered as he waved vaguely at the body lying the in a growing pool of its own blood.

"So take your Chosen Instrument there, and make sure the body is disposed of with the proper rites," he said gravely. "And then I would strongly urge the rest of you to mediate upon the words of the Pillars of Wisdom, Strength, and Power before making any sort of decision concerning your futures here."

His eyes went around the half-circle, making sure to make eye contact with each of the males present.

"I know your names; I know your faces," he stated calmly and evenly. "I know where your families and loved ones sleep. Now begone and be thankful for my mercy."

The party scrambled to collect the body of their glorious leader, dragging it very unceremoniously out of sight, heads bobbing so far to the left I thought they were going to strain something.

"You know their names?" Hadasi asked, once they were out of sight. "Who were they?"

"No idea," Khentu grinned. I put a hand on his shoulder outside the office door.

"Don't forget we have another Lift incoming next shift," I reminded him. By now, I was getting used to Omega's strange time-keeping system, though honestly I didn't understand what was wrong with standard time.

"I'll be there," Khentu nodded. "Just don't ask me to come to your weird… _cult_ thing afterwards."

" _Service_ ," I corrected. "And you know you're always welcome to attend. You don't have to participate. In fact, until baptism, you're not _allowed_ to participate."

"Religion is all well and good for the masses, Father," Khen grinned at me. Several long evenings had gone into friendly theological debates between the two of us, comparing and contrasting the merits between the _truly_ strange neo-Egyptian religion his ancestors had begun, the Catholic Church, and his own agnostic leanings. "But I'll find faith in my own way."

"As God will find _you,_ my son," I replied. "In His own way."

I patted the shoulder and then turned to head back to the wing of rooms that served as my new growing orphanage, as well as my Logistics office. Hadasi fell in step beside me and we walked along in silence for a moment. I smiled at the various stalls that were being set up along what we were calling The Marketplace, for obvious reasons. I had no idea how some of these vendors had obtained some the items they were now selling, many of which _I_ had tried and failed to secure.

 _Never underestimate a black market_ , I thought amusedly as we walked, and turned towards Hadasi to get her opinion.

"Don't ask _me to_ join your weird church either, Father," she answered before I could say a word. "Your whole 'One-Male-God' thing is a bit too misogynistic for me."

"And the 'One-Goddess-Athame' obviously isn't too misandrist for you?" I retorted playfully.

"Hey now," Hadasi chided, "Asari don't _have_ genders. So our religion avoids that theological pitfall quite handily."

"And at any rate, I'm not in a hurry to proselytize," I shrugged. "I figure that God's truth, love, and kindness are their own missionaries, so long as I share them liberally with those I meet."

Hadasi's face grew grave, and she looked around her.

"In a place like this?" she answered. "That's a great way to get yourself taken advantage of."

"Hence the rifle and armor," I chuckled, gesturing to the newest additions of my wardrobe. "I'm compassionate, not stupid."

* * *

 **Omega's Child**

 _(Khentu Emrys)_

 **Date: 1-22-2185  
** **Location: The Arena, The Deeps, Omega**

"Ra have Mercy," I hissed under my breath as the massive lift from the Uppers finally hove into view, and its cargo with it.

A horde of newcomers and refugees, easily over a hundred of them, began shoving forward and off the platform. Most of them held themselves with quiet reserve that was typical of most Omega residents. Other looked warily at the guards with guns, and took in the sight of the newly-renovated area around them. Others pressed forward with blind hope in their eyes, uncaring of what dangers lay ahead, so long as they escaped whatever horrors had driven them to accept coming down here.

"Do you want me to take charge of this group, Lord?" Osman asked. The kid had been eager to help ever since he got here. I didn't have an official secretary, but if I did, he'd probably be the one to get the job.

"No, Osman," I replied. "I'm their new leader, so it's best that I talk to them first. Go help Waz set up the practice ring; we have to see what this group is made of."

Osman started to make the Blood Arrow salute of the back of his hand to his forehead, and then remembered himself and merely brought his fist against his breastplate before running off to do just that. I turned and began walking towards the Lift, once again silently vowing to _not_ allow the Deeps to devolve into Aria's wastebasket, where she just sent all the undesirables and beings she'd rather be rid of, but for whatever reason, didn't feel the need to outright _kill_. Another part of my brain reminded me that that was _exactly_ how I had been allowed to continue living, but I pushed it aside. Those thoughts could come later.

"Alright, people," I said once I'd clambered onto a stack of crates, newcomers damping down the rumble of their talk. "My name is Khentu Emrys."

Murmurs ran through the crowd. Some of the expressions around me were awed, others were just surprised. More than a few gave me obvious 'thought-you'd-be-taller' appraisals.

"Welcome to the Arena," I stated, gesturing to the scene behind me. "You'll be organized into groups and then processed, in order to secure work and quarters for you and your families. They're going to ask you a serious of questions, about who you are, and what you can do. First things first: anyone lies to us is really going to regret it – but not for long. Understand?"

Heads nodded as the warning sank in around the square.

"We need skilled workers," I went on. "Any technicians, programmers, and coders, first and foremost. Blacksmiths too."

Some people were smiling, and others had grave expressions on their faces. I didn't hold any hopes for _prodigies_ or terribly gifted artisans among the group. If there were, Aria's people or the big Upper gangs would have snatched them up for themselves long before they would have made it down here.

"Plumbers, fitters, machinists, bricklayers, carpenters," I went on. "Doctors, nurses, midwives, dentists. Gardeners and farmers too. Line up over there at the desks and give the details."

I paused, looking up and down the line.

"And people," I repeated, "Do. NOT. LIE. We have people that _can_ test to see if you have the skills you claim. You _will be_ tested, and we have very simple punishments for pretenders and liars. It rhymes with 'Slave dollar.'"

I held up the slave collar in a theatrical gesture, just in case the denser among them didn't get the play on words. Serious looks met my gaze.

 _OK, that's it for the stick_ , I thought, _Now for the carrot._

"If you are afraid to say 'general laborer,' don't worry about a thing," I reassured. "You will be among the _most_ welcome in our group: You'll be well-paid, and well-cared-for, if you're willing to put in a hard shift's work. We've got a lot of work to do and not enough people to do it."

"What if we came down here to fight?" someone called out, and several heads nodded in agreement. I just grinned in reply.

"Then you lot follow me."

A few minutes later, I was standing in a corner of the temporary practice ring that had been set up. It was on _these_ very sands that Patriarch's enemies and prisoners had fought exotic beasts and each other in horribly violent and bloody death matches all those centuries ago, but I felt that this lot didn't necessarily need to be _told_ that bit of historical trivia. Several of them were already being put through their paces by several of the Legends' veteran members. Some were firing at targets, other were cleaning weapons, and others were rolling on the floor in various wrestling and sparring matches. My first Prospect was walking towards me and I brought up my Omni-Tool.

"Name?" I asked, checking him against the list.

"Jonn Whitson," he answered, and _Amun-Ra_ , he sounded young. "This where I come to kick some ass?"

"Depends," I answered, doing my best to suppress a smile at the likelihood of this skinny scarecrow kicking anybody's ass. "Might be where you come to get your ass _kicked_. A little young to be doing this kind of work, aren't you, kid?"

"I'm old enough," the kid protested, in precisely the tones that made sound even younger. "I grew up on Omega, I know how to handle a gun."

"What District?" I asked.

"Cala," he said. "The Senatoric neighborhood."

I cocked my head sideways, arching a brow at him.

" _How the hells_ does a Senny kid wind up down here?" I asked.

"I went up to Afterlife," he answered, crossing his arms. "Told them to give me a job. They said the best place for me would be down here."

I sighed slightly. Somewhere high above us, Aria's people were probably laughing themselves into stitches over sending this prick down to someone who really couldn't afford to turn away help, however asshole-ish they may be.

"You say you know how to handle that thing?" I asked, my eyes flicking to the gun I could just barely see poking out beneath the leather vest he was wearing.

"Oh, yeah," he said, flourishing the weapon. "I can handle myself. I just spent 50 credits on this beauty, and I wanna use it!"

I got a good look at the weapon even as I winced and pointed the barrel _down_ towards the floor. It was an Elkoss Combine M-4 _Shuriken_ model; a quality weapon, worth every credit. Or at least it _had_ been, maybe five or so years ago.

"I'd be worried about getting your money back." I stated slowly.

"Huh?"

"If you pulled that trigger right now," I snorted, "The only thing you'd kill is yourself."

"Huh?" he repeated, and the kid _actually_ turned the gun to look down the fucking barrel. My hand snapped out, disarming him with two fluid movements before he could manage to kill himself. I held it up, and with the slightest flick of my finger, the rusting actuator _and_ the drained power core… fell out of the weapon.

"What the hell?" Whitson hissed, looking down at the completely useless weapon. "That elcor _lied_ to me! Damn him and his Emporium!"

"Emporium?" I asked. "Harrot's Emporium? In the Afterlife District?"

 _Good god_ s, I thought as he nodded, _this idiot bought a fucking gun from a furniture salesman._

"Right then, Jonn Witless," I said, "Follow me. We're gonna work on your hand-to-hand."

"I know all about that, too," he answered, the obscene amount of self-confidence leeching back into his tone. "Took two years of _jow-ren-ko_ up on Cala!"

I grinned as I saw him start some kind of martial arts kata to warm up for our bout. I had no idea what _jow-ren-ko_ was, exactly, but based upon his wide, lethargic movements and off-balance lurches, I didn't have anything to worry about.

 _Well,_ I thought. _At least it might be fun to kick the shit out of him. How he reacts to that will tell if we bother keeping him on or sending him back up the Lift. Or maybe just give him a job busting concrete with a hammer..._

* * *

 **Broken Vessel**

 _(Laila Adonis)_

 **Date: 1-23-2185  
** **Location: The Deep Docks**

"Get that spirits' damned thing under control!"

I cursed and threw myself sideways, avoiding the stampeding _gyga_ -hen as it tore up the length of the yards. The 9-foot-tall, bipedal flightless bird had no native predators on its home planet, and there were no strong efforts to permanently colonize the place. Which, I supposed, is the reason why the stupid things weren't extinct yet.

Drella shrieked and dove out of the way herself, her biotic barrier dissipating, but the young maiden's meager biotics were still enough to knock the stupid creature sideways. With an incredibly loud squawk, it stumbled and flailed wildly, sending people and crates scattering. The two feet had wicked curved spurs, and the giant bird could kick hard enough to break bones. To say nothing of the needle-like beak that could hit hard enough to do the same.

One lone figure stood in the way of the stampeding animal. The _gyga_ stared at the massive figure, as if its pathetic brain was trying to understand _why_ the unknown creature wasn't moving of its way, when a fist came up in a sudden, blinding strike to the side of the animal's face.

With a loud " _Squawwwk,_ " the bird stumbled, falling completely on its side. Nakmor Chell moved with a speed that belied her giant size, seizing the creature's neck and using her considerable body weight to hold it down.

"Hood!" she shouted, "Hood! Where's the damned _hood?!_ "

Three of the dock workers, one of them bleeding from where one of the curved spurs had lacerated him from neck to elbow, moved to throw a massive black bag over the head of the creature. Almost instantly, the wild thrashing ceased, and the animal lay still, breathing hard from its exertions. The now-docile creature was easily led back towards the offending ship from whose hold it had broken free.

Korir Lannex, the captain of the _Sujeet,_ was one of Aria's, hence why he had been trusted to dock at one of the two newly-repaired berths. What couldn't be secured and sent down the Lift was being brought in from off-station. But the Black Queen didn't even _have_ a sense of charity, and I knew for a fact that a ledger existed that kept track of _exactly_ how many credits she had invested in this little venture. The Salarian was apologizing profusely as the bird was being led back into the hold, but that was probably because of the murderous look Chell was shooting his way. This was, in fact, the _third_ such creature to escape from the ridiculously-inadequate cages keeping them in place.

The other ship in dock belonged to _Ha'diq_ Shaka ul Yesh. The Batarian captain of the ship wore the ul Yesh family crest emblazoned on his breastplate and was far more aloof and less talkative.

 _Not just a follower then,_ I noted. _Family member: cousin or some other close relation._

The nod he gave us, however, was admittedly respectful as we walked over.

"You brought the payment?" I asked, after introductions were made. ul Yesh had owed us several thousand credits for the raw materials Aria had _ordered_ us to sell him (at a much more discounted price than we would have bartered for). They had been intended for the rebuilding of the dockyards and warehouses of Zadith Ban, his newly-acquired stronghold.

"Indeed, ma'am," he nodded. "They are being unloaded as we speak."

I blinked and flicked my mandibles, hoping I'd misheard. "I'm sorry, 'they'?"

The loading bay door came down to create a ramp from the rear of the ship directly onto the dockyard.

" _Ancestors_ ," Nakmor Chell swore softly.

In typical Batarian logic, rather than send us precious credits or any other commodity we could actually _use,_ he had chosen to pay his debt with the one thing he had readily available, and more than likely too much of at the moment:

People.

 _Dozens_ of collared and shackled individuals were being herded and prodded off the end of the ship, shoved into something like ranks. Maybe these were liberated slaves of Warlords Zaen or Ganar. Maybe these were followers of theirs, captured in the long siege of the last Blood Pack holdout. _Spirits_ , maybe these were just civilians he had just grabbed off the street and thrown into the nearest ship.

"Go get Khentu," I groaned softly. "He'll want to see this for himself."

"He's not going to be happy about it," Chell rumbled. "But then again, none of us are."

As it turned out, 'not happy' was code for 'fucking livid,' in this case.

"This was _not_ in the fucking contract," Khentu _hissed_ as he scrolled through the list of serial numbers identifying each slave.

"It wasn't _not_ in the contract, either," I shrugged, and I tapped a talon on the datapad's far column. "I would bet every credit I have that the Tuhi board's estimated value of each slave adds up to _exactly_ the amount he owes us for the raw materials."

Khentu scrolled down to the totals, and swore softly when he saw I was entirely correct.

"Now I've got to find housing, food, and clothing for…" he sighed, raising an eyebrow at the Batarian captain.

"A hundred and fifty." he answered, being _very_ careful not to show the slightest ounce of amusement at our predicament, and his master's Terminus-style business savvy.

"Almost _two hundred_ more people?" Khentu's posture went rigid, and I could tell he very much wanted to leave this problem to someone else, preferably in favor of going and _shooting_ something.

"The problem," Father Ignatius stated slowly, as he surveyed the ranks upon ranks of _mostly_ human chattel, "is certainly that we can't trust slaves. So the solution, I feel, is obvious…"

"We can't free them," I cut in before he could make the suggestion. He arched an eyebrow at me, and to his credit, kept the emotions on his face from entering into his tone.

"Emancipation is an excellent way to guarantee loyalty," he countered, and any other day, I would have agreed with him.

"Or an excellent way to bring two hundred trained Blood Pack infantry into our midst," Chell answered for me, the Krogan's eyes narrowing as she took in some of the scarred faces among the slaves' ranks. "Half of them could be Scarlet Tears, or Zaen's militia for all we know."

"Surely they're not _all_ …" Ignatius started to protest.

"We can't trust _anything_ they say," Khentu cut him off, and now I could see the wheels in his mind turning as he took in both points of view. "They'll all swear they're as pure as Hathor's Handmaidens. For all we _know,_ Father, these are all of the serial killers, murderers, and rapists from Zadith Ban's prisons that ul Yesh is unloading on us, just so he won't have to deal with them anymore."

The Batarian captain didn't make any comment, but even his choice to keep his stance _strictly_ neutral and non-committal spoke volumes. Whoever ul Yesh had sent us, they were people the new Warlord really didn't want around.

"Then perhaps, a campaign of _gradual_ emancipation is practical?" Ignatius said slowly, nodding in recognition of the facts laid out. "We keep an eye on them for now, but demonstrate that their lot has greatly improved by coming to us. As they see we're serious about our claims, they'll work that much harder to earn our trust and our friendship. And time will also demonstrate who among them are violent, or dangerous, and who need to keep shackled and collared."

Khen looked at the rest of us, and we nodded. It was as good a plan as any. "Very well, Father," he nodded decisively. "See it done."

"Perhaps I should be the one to address them," I cut in. "Seeing as how I have been one in their place, once upon a time."

Khen considered it, and then nodded. I turned on my heel and made my way to the front of the assembled… _payment_.

"Listen up!" I called out, "All of you!"

Instant silence fell, as their entire focus shifted to me. But then again, a crowd's attention is an easy thing to acquire when the collars on their necks could _explode_ at a touch of a button.

"I know you are frightened, and unsure of your futures here," I continued. "I know, because I was once one of you."

I craned my neck to show the white scar on my neck where my collar had rubbed the flesh beneath it raw. A low hum ran through the crowd as they recognized what it was, along with whispers as those in front hissed the information to those behind who could not see.

"We don't beat or starve slaves for _sport_ here on in the Deeps," I stated. "We don't execute them on a whim, either, or under the _least_ provocation."

I paused, letting words sink in.

"Here, you will find fair treatment, good food, and good homes for you and yours. Father Ignatius and I will be checking you in as you exit the ship," I stated, gesturing to the human priest who had followed me over. "If you have family members or loved ones on this boat with you, let us know, and we will do our best not to separate you.

Show us you can be trusted, and trust shall be given. Show that you _deserve_ freedom, and it will be granted. Act the animal or the savage, and the collars stay on."

Murmurs of surprise arose from the crowd as we walked back towards Khen and Chell, but I didn't miss the suspicious growls and unconvinced glares that followed us. My lover and our krogan enforcer nodded approval at my words as we rejoined them.

"Chell," Khen said next, "Go talk to Korir, and tell him we need to buy those _damned_ giant chickens of his. He's going to tell you first that they're not for sale, and then that he's already secured a buyer elsewhere to try and drive the price up. And I'm telling you that he's a damned liar. Anto up in Afterlife was laughing about the fact that he bought the stupid things in a speculative buy, and now he can't get rid of them. Get them at a reasonable price, and then slaughter them. The fresh meat will help boost morale among the work gangs, and then we can give their freeze-dried rations to this lot here."

"It will be done," the krogan rumbled, and then shot me a wink. "At least _something_ good has come out of this day; we get to _kill_ the damned things."

"Save one for me," I said, feeling a smile creep across my feet. "The one that most recently broke out."

"Not a chance," Chell chuckled as she walked away. "That one's mine."

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Well, we've set out on the second major arc of the story. My sincere thanks to Katkiller-V for acting not only as my beta-reader/editor, but also helping me bounce ideas to keep everything in line with his Another Realm Mass Effect AU. I'm also aiming on these chapters being much _longer_ than before, since we've got more POV storylines to cover. **

**This story is very different from my other works, and I think that's what is so fun about it. As opposed to my Beacon's Effect series, or my Skyrim series, Khentu is more of a True Neutral character, just trying to survive another day on the meat-grinder that is Omega. It makes for a fun story, and an intriguing character to write. **

**As always, your thoughts/ suggestions/ constructive criticisms are always welcome in the reviews, or my PMs.**

 **ROCK ON, my friends!**

 **-Tusken1602**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

Arctech - Thanks for the review! Lurkers are always welcome here! Well, it's a fairly traumatic event that both of the Emrys brothers have gone through. And also bear in mind that right now, each of them truly believes that the other is dead. As for the weird threesome thing *shrug* welcome to Omega? But no, that will be a subject for future chapters, not to worry.

BJ Hanssen - I'm sure Patriarch is laughing at Khentu from the afterlife, to be sure. But also remember that Ptolemy and Khentu have a _MUCH_ different relationship than Nasser and Mentu did.

seabo76, Draco Oblivion - Yeah, I'm sure the whole 'Let's team up with Cerberus...AGAIN' plan won't backfire... at all. Yeah, sure. Because it worked so well the first time.

matmac - In reality, the Deep is not _really_ a powerful zone at all. It's the _very_ bottom of the station, far removed from everything else that's going on. But Aria can't afford to leave it empty anymore, given how close an orb came to being shoved up their collective asses. But she also can't commit a whole of her own resources to it, either. So the compromise plan is to give the ruined territory to someone _else_ to clean up, while tightly controlling the Lifts and Docks (the other ways in and out). So essentially, Khentu and the Legends are her vassals, freeing up a lot of her resources and manpower to be committed elsewhere.


	22. Act 4: Oaths and Promises

**Omega's Child  
** _(Khentu Emrys)_

 **Date:** 2-09-2185 **  
Location:** Silver Blades Compound, Illium Minor, Doru District, Omega

The way Aria's people had described it, I had expected the Silver Blades to have swallowed up Little Egypt and the neighborhoods beyond. In reality, their territory took up surprisingly little of what had been my father's and grandfather's miniature kingdom. Illium Minor, as the Blades and the numerous signs I had seen on my way here called it, was instead constrained to an almost crescent-moon shape around a small section of the Doru Docks and the immediate vicinity beyond. They had had the sense to secure both trade docks within the area, as well as a few active casinos, some shopping districts, and the headquarters of Black Night News, which was how most of this part of the station got their news of the outside world.

 _Useful for propaganda,_ I mused, _but I hope Tykeo and his family got out alright_.

The Salarian owner of BNN had been a bit of an uptight prick, but an honest one nonetheless. I had to admit it had never even occurred to any of the Blood Arrows to actually _take over_ the news outlet. I supposed that was a result of growing up on this station, rather than having an outsider's perspective.

My thoughts were interrupted by the door opening and a well-dressed Batarian coming into the room, his uniform the dour navy with silver accents of the local corporation. He was sorting through three different datapads, syncing the information to his Omni-tool. I winced in commemoration as he struggled to juggle the various objects: my own life these past months had consisted of seemingly endless reports of our own.

I stood to my feet and gave what I thought was a respectfully deferential Batarian greeting; "A profitable day to you, Ven ul Thusan."

The Silver Blades' secretary, or maybe 'accountant' was a better word, gave me a polite amount of deference in return. "And you, _Rad'daq_ Emrys."

I did my best to hide the wince. It was a magnanimous gesture on his part to call me 'Lord,' I supposed. I was certainly not a _Ha'diq_ , which meant 'Lord of Cities,' a title usually reserved for the ruler of a planet. _Rad'daq_ , on the other hand, literally meant 'Lord of Slaves.' As I _did_ in fact own almost two hundred of them down in the Deeps, I really didn't have any grounds to object to the title.

"My superiors," the man continued, "wished for me to communicate that we are very pleased with the work the Legends have been doing for us."

"We aim to please," I nodded. It never hurt to have someone compliment your work.

"However," he said as if I hadn't spoken, "Your latest invoices reflected an overall raise in price of almost 15%. It is, I believe, a matter that merits further discussion. Would you care to elaborate?"

"Of course," I nodded agreeably.

That was practical business on Omega: In fact, the prices had raised incrementally for each shipment, by about half a percent or so. I had been hoping the chaos caused by the Blades' setting up and restructuring Little Egypt would have lasted longer, until we were at a 30% increase or so. But it seemed that Ven was actually committed to saving his organization money. Or maybe he wanted to drive the price down and pocket the difference. Either way, it was in the open now, and had to be dealt with.

"The reason for the increase is the increase in _quality,_ " I explained simply. "As we train more and more workmen, we are able to refine the process and produced higher-grade materials over time."

It was an explanation that had the added advantage of being _mostly_ true. Or at least, being an answer that wasn't an outright _lie._

"Be that as it may," Ven replied, without giving me the slightest indication that he either bought the explanation or was subtly accusing me of being a liar, "the change in prices may have to force us to look to processing our raw materials elsewhere."

I grinned internally. This of course, was the next practical step in the negotiations: threatening to leave the business partnership entirely. Not that I believe that they would for even a moment. Whatever our prices were, I knew they were _thousands_ of credits cheaper than bringing the materials in from off-station.

"I'm terribly sorry," I stated, forcing what I felt was the proper amount of consternation into my expression and voice all the same. "I had no idea your finances were in such dire straits. Of course we can come to some arrangement. After all, isn't charity one of the founding principles of the Pillar of Heart?"

The look the Silver Blades' financier gave me showed me that he didn't appreciate my twisting of his sentence, or thrilled at my reference to his faith.

"It is the Pillar of Wisdom and their guidance on sustainability that I am more concerned with," he replied blandly. "The Blue-Claws provide the same service you do, at nearly half the price."

There it was: establishing that we needed _them_ much more than they needed us. Now for the proper response...

"The Blue-Claws?" I guffawed incredulously. "Ven, you must be _truly_ desperate to go to those crooks for help. Every second pylon they sell you is gonna have two or three bastards _buried_ in it. And we both know that putting bodies in the foundation only weakens the structure!"

I made a wide shrugging gesture. "That of course, is assuming you don't grow old waiting for the turnaround on the scrap you give them."

Then I let my face grow serious for a moment.

"Look here, Ven," I stated, "We've done right by each other, which is a damn close thing to friendship on this station. Let's work out some kind of bargain that we're both equally unhappy with; a fair deal, and an even one."

"Contract," rasped a voice behind us. Both of us whirled to see a tall Asari in the same kind of uniform as Ven entering the room. Hers was an older matron's build, but still lithe and athletic, like braided cords wrapped beneath muscles.

"Mistress Ghai," Ven stated in surprise, and he actually bowed at the waist. I copied his movement, being careful to bow just a bit deeper than himself. Whoever this was, it was obvious that she was _much_ higher up the command chain of the Silver Blades than he was.

"Fixed rates," Mistress Ghai rasped again, now turning her attention fully upon me, and it was then that I saw the horrible scarring on her neck. That told a grim story of a wound that had ruined vocal chords beyond even the recovery of her natural Asari regeneration, and no doubt a whole host of medical experts and procedures. It then struck me that the words had been in only slightly accented Batarian, rather than the rolling lilt of Thessian I had been about to use when answering her. I shifted mental paths back to the alien language, while at the same time shifting conversational tactics.

"Doable," I stated, cutting my words brief. Gone now were the long-winded exchanges I had been prepared to trade back and forth with Ven, in the time-honored and quasi-sacred art of haggling. This was an Asari whose words were chosen with great care, and at great cost. It would not be prudent to do otherwise. "I can't fix my rates for any great length of time, however. My workers compete to see who can produce the highest quality steel and other metals. If I charge the same rate for that and the slag others produce, the skilled crews lose all motivation to improve."

The crested head tilted slightly in consideration of this fact, and then nodded.

"Monthly," came the harsh tones again, but the look on her face was not stern, merely contemplative.

"That's certainly reasonable," I nodded again, and shot a glance back at Ven, who also nodded. "Shall we fix the new price then at say, a twelve percent raise?"

I almost _heard_ Ven's teeth grind at the suggestion, and Ghai's eyes narrowed at my words. She gave me a look that let me know she knew _exactly_ what I was doing and lifted three fingers.

" _Three_ ," she said, and the look on her face was cold and calculating. I gave a show of considering the offer.

"Nine," I countered, and then rolled my shoulders in an Asari shrug. "I have families to feed after all."

No words this time, but two more fingers rose to join the first three. I clutched my chest, as if in pain.

"My children may starve," I hissed dramatically, "but the gods made me a fool with a weakness for beautiful women, and there's the black pity of it. Five percent it is, to be renegotiated in thirty days. If we've been delivering timely and quality work, it goes up. If you're not satisfied… well, let's leave the impossible out of the question."

Ven handed me a pad that basically stated the same thing, minus all the legal jargon, and while we went back and forth over a few technical phrases he had tried to sneak in at the last minute, I placed my thumbprint on the bottom, sealing the deal. Interestingly, Ven gave the pad to Ghai for her thumbprint, rather than setting it aside for Kean's approval.

 _So she must be some kind of Logistics Administrator_ , I guessed as Ghai also perused the document for a moment. Then her eyes looked up at me, and for the first time, there was a twinkle of amusement in her eyes.

"How many children?" she asked, and for a moment, there was a hint of how beautiful her voice _must_ have been, before whatever tragic event that had wounded her. I grinned openly and placed my hand on my chest again.

"Nineteen of them, Lady," I answered, "And they live with all ten of their grandmothers, and all twelve of their grandfathers and great-grandfathers; all of whom are dying of cancer, gods rest their souls."

A ghost of a wry grin appeared, the hard face shifting into something like tired amusement. Then her own thumbprint was pressed on the bottom of the pad, and my Omni-Tool _beeped_ as a copy of the file was transferred to me.

"Pleasure doing business with you," I stated, bowing again at the waist. "I bid you both a profitable day."

With that out of the way I was free to depart, and in a show of 'trust' they seemed content to let me do so without an escort. Or at least, they were polite enough to make it _seem_ like I didn't have an escort; I'd have put credits on the fact that I was being followed by at least one or two people.

Then again... within the first couple of minutes of walking out of the wrecked casino they seemed to be furiously turning into a base of operations, I walked past at least a dozen Asari in the golden yellow of the Eclipse, and I probably could have counted more if I'd stopped to look around for another minute.

 _Must be using them to supplement their manpower_ , I thought. The Silver Blades were serious players in the Terminus if they had the support of not only Aria T'Loak, but also the backing of the Eclipse Corporation. _Still, curious or not, it's not really my business, not with all of the crap I have on my plate already._

The shuttle that sat on the landing pad still had a Blood Pack logo faintly on the side, but with a newer black and silver 'L' painted over it. The thing had _barely_ run when we had gotten a hold of it, but it was a way to get from the Deeps to the rest of the station that didn't involve the lifts and walking. But as with the hidden guards I knew were watching me, I didn't doubt for a second that there were a _hundred_ and a half ways that Aria's people were tracking the vehicle or could potentially shut it down or take it over the first moment we did something or went somewhere they didn't like.

There is no such thing as a free gift, especially not from the Black Queen of Omega.

Laila leaned back against the vehicle, along with Osman. My former slave didn't claim to be a great pilot, but she knew enough to fly the damn thing, which is more than any of the rest of us did, except for maybe Wasilla, who still wasn't in any shape to be up and about for longer than short walks.

"Got everything sorted?" Laila asked as I entered the shuttle.

"Got knocked down to a five percent raise," I replied, wincing slightly at the admission. "And we've got a fixed rate for the next month, but with an option to renegotiate afterwards."

"I told you we should have gone with a slower increase," Laila grunted.

"Don't know that it would have made a difference," I shrugged. "Their logistics people seem to really be on top of things."

When she shrugged and simply fell silent, I turned to the back of the shuttle to face Osman.

"What's the word from the rest of Little Egypt?" I asked, and his expression told me about what I expected even before he said a word.

"Bad," he said grimly. "Really bad, boss."

"Any," I swallowed, and then tried again, "any of our folk make it?"

"Not many," Osman shook his head. "The Connies have moved in to the areas that the Blades didn't claim, and they did it in force. Worse, they're not alone; the Aramasi Serpents, the Blue-Claws, and the Tersatani all jumped in too."

"That all-Asari gang?" I asked. "They were a tiny detail back when Dad ran things. How are they bankrolling anything?"

"Apparently they've secured the main Lifts, and are charging a toll to take folk up and down," he replied.

"Clever," I nodded, impressed. "Anybody moves against them, they can blow the Lift and the invaders get nothing. Or get stranded."

"I also found Michael Powell and some of his crew."

"Jordan's youngest kid?" I asked, and Osman nodded.

"The old man didn't make it," he said. "But Mike still managed to keep the garage, under the protection of the Serpents."

"What did he have to say?" I asked.

"Rimo made it out alive," Osman continued to report. "But he's gone back to the Flotilla. Word on the street is that they're gonna push hard for the Veil and get their home planet back."

I shrugged. Rimo'Kenn nar Orrah had been a good technician and armorer, but I felt more disappointment in his loss than excitement about the rumored plans of a fleet of outsiders.

"And the news you _don't_ want to tell me?"

Osman looked supremely uncomfortable, shooting a look at Laila, who sighed as she began the shuttle's start-up sequence.

"Abdul and a few others survived the main battle," she finally said for him, "but then they tried a push from the Armory and got themselves wiped out by the Consortium. The Batarians pushed in hard right after that, and pretty much killed anyone who got in their way."

I felt my heart sink in my chest and there was a fresh pang of pain in my soul. "Any of them still alive?"

"He's hasn't heard about anybody left alive," Laila answered, before adding quickly, "or if they have, they're laying _way_ low."

I didn't say anything, and she glanced at me before quietly continuing, "No word about Ptolemy either way, Khen. I'm sorry."

I shook my head, sighing deeply. "If he had survived, there's no way he would have just sent Abdul and everyone else on a fool's errand..." The dull ache of loss returned. "So then… just confirms what we already thought we knew."

Another sigh came out as I turned away, looking around at the construction crews hard at work, some of them working with steel that bore _our_ mark. The new buildings going up were distinctly Asari in style, and the winding and narrow streets I had grown up on were being erased in favor of a more methodical grid layout. In a few months, I suspected I wouldn't recognize _anything_ about this part of Omega.

The History of Little Egypt was being bulldozed by outsiders... and I could only feel a depressed kind of relief at its death.

"Come on, then," I waved, and reached for my helmet where I had left it in the shuttle. "Let's go… back home. And leave this haunted house of a District behind us."

* * *

 **Holy Warrior  
** _(Father Ignatius)_

 **Date:** 2-10-2185 **  
Location:** The Arena Palace, The Deeps, Omega

A solemn silence had fallen upon the crowd, except for a ring of drummers banging a tribal rhythm. I didn't know the Batarian word for the instrument, but on Earth they would have been viewed as akin to Irish _lambeg_ drums.

All non-gang members had been strictly forbidden from attending, which naturally meant most of them were all watching us from the multiple levels above us. A little intentionally-generated mystery was never a bad thing to have, I supposed.

The newest formal recruits into the Legends stood beside one another on the raised dais of the Arena:

Boras ul Hashik was, I had gathered, a former resident of the Warrens and a close neighbor of Khentu's branch of the Blood Arrows, while not being a full member at the time, first because of his species and then due to personal preference. Jehu ul Cokat had sponsored his entrance into becoming a full member. The requirement for sponsorship by a _current_ member was the only limitation the Legends had as to who could or who could _not_ be admitted into the gang's roll.

Muerta'Harrel was a flotilla quarian, exiled for some crime, as testified by her title 'nar Galaw.' Her left arm was a primitive, oversized prosthetic, but she apparently could use the limb with no small degree of skill, to the point that Captain Jalos himself had agreed to sponsor her. The large Drell stood behind her with his arms folded, looking deeply contemplative.

The last of this part of the ceremony was a young girl, barely out of her teen years, by the look of it, standing alone at the front of the gathered ranks. And it was Khentu who stood authoritatively at the dais, and from the tone of his voice, you wouldn't have imagined that we had already been through this whole ceremony twice already.

"Who is this that comes before the assembled Legends?" he called, his baritone voice pitched to carry. "And what is her purpose here?"

The booming question was daunting, but the girl set her shoulders back and the voice that answered was free of even the slightest quiver:

"I am Jasmine El Sadat," she answered. Hers was not the trained salesman's voice that Khentu had, but the spirit in them was clear to all. "And I would have my name added to the List of Legends."

"Who among the Legends speaks for this one?" Khentu asked, casting a critical eye over the orderly ranks of those assembled. There was no indication whatsoever that he already knew every answer before he asked the question.

"I do," answered Osman, stepping forward to stand behind his sister. "I vouch for her heart, and her spirit. She is well worthy of the Legends. Of this I stand convinced."

"Very well, Brother Osman," Khentu nodded gravely, as if he was still giving the matter long and serious thought. "Step forward then, You-Who-Would-Be-Legend."

Jasmine strode forwards and put her hands between Khentu's. She had been one of the Blood Arrows, and the gesture was one of the few holdovers from the old gang's ceremony. But the words she repeated however, were shamelessly stolen from a dozen other gangs and ceremonies on Omega. A few phrases and aspects had even been supplied by yours truly:

"I, Jasmine El Sadat, pledge to the Legends my life, limb and truth, against all that live, move or fight against them. They shall be brother and sister to me, and so shall I be to them. I shall act with honor towards all and injustice towards none. So witness those who came before me, those who are gathered here with me, and those who shall come after me."

"Brothers and Sisters of the Legends!" Khentu said, now addressing the rest of the assembled party, "Do you so witness?"

"Witnessed!" came the answer from the gathered crowd.

Khentu then took a large poker from the lit brazier beside him. The red-hot 'L' on the end of the brand gleamed in the near-darkness we had dampened the light of the Arena to reflect for this solemn occasion. The brand neared the forehead of the young girl, but the moment before it touched the flesh, Khentu plunged it into the black sand that covered the main pit of the Arena.

"Sister Jasmine," he stated gravely, "no brand or mark is laid upon your body, for you have pledged your heart. If that pledge be true, no other mark is needed. If your pledge is false, no other mark will bind you. Only the iron in your will, and the fire in your heart will hold you to your oath today. So witness all Legends."

"Witnessed," repeated the crowd.

Khentu then extended his open hand to the still-kneeling girl. "Arise, Sister!"

Jasmine clasped the hand, wrist-to-wrist, and was pulled to her feet, and into a firm embrace by Khentu. "Welcome to the Legends!"

Only a few short minutes later, once the others had been accepted with equal ritual, the once-dark area was illuminated bright as day, with dancing and music rising high as Legends and civilians alike danced and sang with the wild abandon that only folk who work their fingers to the bone can achieve.

Little Khentu was squealing with laughter as the other children played around him. The infant could barely toddle around, but he was doing his absolute best to catch the other children around him. Nakmor Chell was watching over the whole group with the air of a long-suffering mother. More than once she stooped to catch a child here, or pull another back to their feet.

In the throng, I could see Wasilla and Laila paired off, slow-dancing with Wasilla's hands encircling the Turian's waist, and Laila's hands around the Asari's neck. I carried over a bottle to where Khentu was, amazingly, sitting alone for a moment. The most cursory glance was obvious where his attention was drawn as we opened the cheap Batarian beers.

"I don't want to tell you how to run your life, Khentu…" I began.

"Varrenshit," he grinned, "You _love_ telling people how to run their lives."

"You know that that relationship will be difficult in the long term, don't you?" I asked dubiously.

"Because it's sinful and not monogamous?" he chuckled.

"No," I corrected him. We had already had such a conversation, and I knew that even a Saint could not have swayed the man from his course. "I'm just talking about the individual personalities. Laila is your standard turian. She wants commitment and singular focus."

"And I'm a roving, amoral bastard?" Khentu asked, raising an eyebrow in amusement.

"No," I said again. "But Wasilla is a free spirit. She's _centuries_ older than the two of you. And I know for a fact that you didn't expect her to stay with the _Hounds_ for as long as she did."

Khentu pursed his lips together, clearly mulling things over, and took another sip of the beer.

"And now she's trapped down here in the Deeps with the rest of us," he said slowly. "The medical crippling she's had has slowed her down, sure, but then that means she'll be that much more eager to get a move on once she has recovered."

I gave him what I hoped was a comforting smile and a supportive hand on his shoulder.

"I do commend you for your restraint," I stated, "You could have any woman you desired. Heaven help us, there's enough of them _throwing_ themselves at you."

"Don't want one," Khen shrugged. "Or at least, not any of them."

"That is not the Khentu I remember," I chuckled. "I seem to remember that your… _achem_ …exploits being somewhat legendary, pardon the phrase."

"I wasn't a Lord before," Khentu sighed, setting the empty bottle down. "My father had a different whore living with us every month, each one only interested in what she could wring from him before he moved on to the next one. Hell, Hatsheput, for as much of a whore as she was, was probably the most sane and clever of the lot... she made damn sure Father never knocked her up if nothing else. "

I nodded. It was rare to find a young man Khen's age that _wouldn't_ take advantage of every female making themselves available, regardless of their motivations. From his descriptions now and before, his father had certainly never stopped to consider the consequences of such actions in the past. Perhaps growing up around such things had given him wisdom beyond his years... at least, in that particular area of life.

"Maybe we won't live happily ever after, with grandchildren and great-grandchildren," Khentu said, and there was a dark seriousness just beneath his flippant tones. "But we're alive today, Father, and that's what we're setting out to celebrate today."

He reached over and grabbed another bottle from a passing figure.

"Soldiers of Fortune!" he called out, "Who are we?!"

"LEGENDS!" came the answering shout from every throat present. "LE-GENDS! LE-GENDS!"

* * *

 **Chosen Heir  
** _(Ptolemy Emrys)_

 **Date** : 2-10-2185  
 **Location** : Lorek, Fathar System, Omega Nebula

A wild abandonment to cheers and screeches had fallen upon the crowd, except for a ring of cymbals banging out a chaotic, hectic rhythm. Figures whirled and danced in macabre death masks, some of sporting trophies taken from our latest enemies. The light from the bonfires cast the whole party in a strange and otherworldly light. Just off in the distance, I could see our ship, and the comparatively _tiny_ campfires of our allies, who had respectfully declined the Jackal's invite to this religious ceremony.

The Civil War tearing the Hegemony apart had been both a blessing and a curse to those looking to profit from the chaos. The curse had come from the increase in sizes and frequency of the Loyalist and Rebel patrols that combed the area. Each of them were scouting and seeking for each other, but that wouldn't stop either of them from destroying a pirate ship or haven, just to give their often hastily recruited forces the badly needed _practice._

The blessing had come from said ships and reinforcements dedicated by the planetary and regional governors of both sides draining the outer colonies of their garrisons and defenses. A determined strike force could strike any of the Hegemony outer colonies and vanish with the comet winds before either side could send reinforcements, if one was clever enough, and quick enough.

Thus far, Amun-Ra be thanked, the _Duat_ had allowed us to be both. The older ship had been an older Turian castoff, but had been retrofitted to be serviceable for our needs. Ostensibly, the captain and the crew were AIS, Alliance Intelligence, and we were contracted backup. But somehow, I didn't think that Earth's government would officially condone raids on the Hegemony and endanger their newfound position on the Citadel Council. It was much more likely that a wild group of ex-Omega pirates on a retrofitted Turian ship was easy for our mysterious benefactors to equip and forget about.

In short, if we were successful in weakening the Hegemony colonies closest to Alliance space, they would reap all the long-term benefits. If we failed, we were easily disavowed... but for now, the situation served to allow the Blood Arrows to extract a bloody revenge for friends and family lost in the Battle of Little Egypt. At least, those of us from that asteroid station; many of the wild crowd assembled here were not veterans from Omega.

Humans weren't the only ones taking advantage of the chaos; countless remote Batarian lords believed that now was a prime time to raid nearby colonies for slaves and booty, if not for governors or Ha'diq or whatever they called themselves to decide that secession and personal power sounded better than bowing to one Hegemony faction or the other. And that had left behind its own trail of blood and misery, reflected in the group of fresh faces, each of them bearing a fresh arrow tattoo on the forehead.

 _Michael Ormsby,_ my brain reminded me. His family had been killed by Batarian pirates. He had been left for dead, and only too eager to join us for a chance at some payback.

 _Rachel O'Flaherty_ , the mental list continued. She was a slave rescued from said pirates. The scars from her captivity ran much deeper than her skin, I knew. So much the better: she could be trusted to strike and kill without hesitation or mercy, and I had seen her do it.

Further down the list continued, each one with a similar sob-story of woe. And each of them had shed alien blood with their own hands, earning their Marks and their places in this ceremony.

Quan Zhang, now clad in the full regalia of High Priest of the Jackals, lifted a hand to the dancing throng, and it still took several moments for a sufficient quiet to be achieved.

"Supplicants!" he called, his thin voice slicing through the thick and humid air of the planet's night. "Stand!"

The newcomers pushed and shoved their way into a ragged line in front of us. None of them were wearing a stich of clothing, and the sweat of their bodies glistened in the dim bonfire light.

"Do you swear fealty to Amun-Ra, Father of us All?"

I sincerely doubted that the older among them _actually_ believed in the Egyptian deities, and the stories they had been bombarded with ever since joining company with us. But I didn't _need_ them to believe. I needed them to _obey_. And these were men and women angry enough and _desperate_ enough to agree to anything, so long as it gave them a chance for revenge.

"I do," each of them answered, and then there was a chorus of hisses and a few shrieks of pain as red-hot irons _burned_ the sacred symbol of the _ankh_ into the middle of their backs.

"Do you vow enmity with Set and all his children?"

"I do!" came the answer again, the _ankh_ was burned into the left shoulder.

"Do you pledge your body, your heart, and your soul to the _Pharaoh?_ "

"I do!"

The right shoulder this time, many of the newcomers panting heavily even after the final brand was applied. Quan and other Jackals stepped forward, applying a salve to the raw and red burns.

"Hate gives birth to rage," he quoted. "Rage gives birth to purpose. And with newfound singular Purpose, we shall attain Victory!"

Then he stepped back, and gestured to where I sat on the makeshift throne made of piled boxes and empty shipping crates.

"Behold, my children! Your _Pharaoh!_ "

I stood to my feet, and looked not only at the newcomers, but the veterans around us as well.

"My Children!" I called out, trying to copy the way Khentu could naturally pitch his voice to carry. In that moment, I felt his loss all the keener.

 _Brother, how I wish you could be a part of this. What a team we would make, you and I._

"I know the troubles that have marred and scarred even the best of you," I continued aloud, "I know the pain of loss that burns in your hearts. Oh yes: _I know it all too well_."

I reached out a hand, and Abdul placed the Phaestron Rifle into my outstretched palm. With as single deft motion, the weapon unfolded, loaded and ready to use in an impressive and intimidating humm of motion.

"But take heart! TAKE up your weapons! Take up the mantle that is the mark of the Blood Arrows! Take up the burden that the gods have laid upon you!"

 _And now it is time I did the same._

"I am the living God who shall bear them that live to victory!"

Rage filled my heart, given life in the words I shouted.

"And those who may fall in the battles to come, I will bear your souls to the other side of the _threshold!_ "

The veterans around us lifted their weapons likewise, and the customary answer came with a roar of anguished rage and bloodlust:

"Threshold! TAKE US TO THE THRESHOLD!"

"I shall preserve your souls from the Devourer, and bear witness to your deeds before Osiris, who sits in judgement."

These were fighters who _needed_ an outlet and a target for their bottled rage and frustration. They were innocent victims, caught up in the merciless politics of the Terminus Systems. Or they had been, once upon a time.

Now they were fully-committed fanatics, with guns in their hands and rage in their hearts. And it was up to me to guide and direct that rage towards victory, and not a pointless death on some backwater planet, far away from our true goal: Omega

"My children!" I called out and lifted my weapon high, "Who are you?!"

"AR-ROWS!" came the answering roar, and even the most cynical of the newcomers was shaking his weapon to the sky, along with the most committed zealot.

"We ARE ARROWS!"

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Well, we've got more interaction with the Silver Blades Corporation, and the Legends are beginning to build their culture and traditions on a new foundation. But we've also got Ptolemy doing the same thing. In the Terminus Systems, if you are not growing, you are dying.**

 **My thanks to Katkiller-V, for his edits, and the use of his Another Realm Mass Effect AU. As always, your thoughts/ suggestions/ constructive criticisms are always welcome in the reviews, or my PMs.**

 **ROCK ON, my friends!**

 **-Tusken1602**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

Arctech – I also don't want to see him die. But then again, I didn't want to see _any_ of my characters die. It just happens sometimes.

BJ Hanssen – Glad I am still capable of surprising you from time to time! ;)

Larc rivereagle – Now we've seen the two of them establishing themselves, and the similarities and differences between them. It'll be exciting to see where this goes!

EE-rah!


	23. Act 4: Gathering Allies

**Holy Warrior**  
 _(Father Ignatius)_

 **Date: 2-28-85**  
 **Location: The Arena, The Deeps, Omega**

"Ho there!" Osman yelled up ahead of us, shoving the occasional passerby aside, "Make way! Make way for The Emrys!"

"Oh , for _Ra's sake.."_ Khen groaned, the sound making me chuckle as I walked beside him. "It's my name, not a bloody title!" he insisted for the _hundredth_ time. "I swear to Anubis, if I find the son of a _jackal_ what started this ridiculous nonsense…"

"You can't _really_ blame them, my son," I said gently. "These are a group who have survived what was supposed to be the impossible. It is only natural that those who didn't actually live through those events should begin to accept them as myth, and equally natural for those who _did_ live through them to tell them as such. 'The Legends of the Fall', for example, and 'The Great Trek' that followed…"

"Amun-Ra," Khen groaned again, "Please tell me that they're not saying that I made food appear from nowhere, like your… _loaves and fishes_ story."

"Ignoring the mild blasphemy of comparing you to Christ," I grinned, "The parallels are in fact there."

The similarity of the Biblical parable in question seemed lost upon the simple folk that I had told it to. I had done my part to reflect the rightful glory back to the Almighty, but the fact remained that we had counted rations for _three_ days, and we had gone on to travel for _nine_.

"That has more to do with the fact that everybody kept supplies back from the initial tally," Khentu scoffed once I had explained. "I would have, if I had been in their shoes."

"But then those hoarders shared," I went on undaunted. " _That_ alone is a miracle in and of itself."

"It was still a _very_ close thing," Khentu grimaced. "We were all a bunch of emaciated scarecrows by the time we got here. Those fucking varren would have the whole patrol in another eight seconds. And then they would have been feasting on the whole party in another shift, if we hadn't run into Teyla and her cache of supplies."

"But we _did_ run into them," I insisted. "And we _weren't_ carrion for predators. The Lord works in mighty and mysterious ways."

"In fucking annoying ways," I heard him grumble. He opened the door to reveal the senior Legends already seated around the small room. Wasilla's crutches were still leaning against the wall, as was Laila, typing away at her Omni-Tool. On the other side of the room, Nakmor Chell and Jesse Jalos were chatting quietly about something, but fell silent as we entered.

"Right then," Khen stated as he placed his steel-crested helmet on the table, everyone else quickly shifting forwards so we were all standing around it. "Senior Council is now in session, blah blah blah, what are the numbers?"

"We're not waiting for Barco?" Laila asked as she shut her omni-tool down.

"He's working on his special project," Khen answered. "Father Ignatius here has his report, though. But let's start with Intel first. Waz, you said some of the newcomers had news on Little Egyp… _Illium_ Minor?"

"Yeah," the Asari nodded. "It's still a mess, and no sign of anymore of the old crew. Worse, I don't think we're going to be able to get much more information out of there."

"How so?" I asked.

"The Blades are doing their best to piss off everyone else in Doru, and battle lines are being drawn up." She answered, "Last week they executed two high-level Connies for bringing in their own slaves, did it right in the street. You can guess how the Connies took that."

I lifted my eyebrows. Apparently these Silver Blades were _serious_ about their ban on slavery within Illium Minor.

"On top of that," Wasilla sighed, "the White Tigers tried to work their way into Level Two, and got put down hard by both the Blades and the Tersatani."

"They've never recovered from Bern's loss," Laila added, "They've got a real leadership problem, as far as I can see."

"Whereas the Talons are being reorganized into Aria's personal C-Sec," Wasilla said, rolling her shoulder in an Asari shrug. "Things are changing on this station, and fast. Rumor has it that Aria's been conducting a lot of direct meetings with other warlords and gang leaders, way more than in the old days."

Khentu nodded contemplatively. "Aria did the whole 'hands-off' thing for three centuries and look how that turned out. So now she's set to run this whole station like a military base, with all of us as her little soldiers... heh. Looks like Dad was right, after all…"

A faraway look came into his eyes for a moment, and then he was shaking himself.

"Now that the Upper news is out of the way, let's shift to something closer to home." He turned his attention to Jesse. "How far out are you sending your patrols?"

"The Villa is still serving as our outpost," the Drell answered, naming the compound where we'd run into Aria's people. "I've taken a team as far as the older Lift we fell down. Still non-functional, not surprising but unfortunate."

"Laila, have we run into any other Lifts?" Khentu asked.

Laila shook her head. "None that are working; all of them are as rusted and broken down as that first one. Frankly, it's a spirits-damned miracle we survived the first Fall."

"Oh, don't _you_ start it too," Khentu groaned. "If we are giving thanks to anybody, it's Waz here and her biotics, not any spirits or gods."

"Almost died for it too," Waz whined, but the smile was plain on her face. "And do you _see_ what gratitude I get?"

"Unadulterated hero worship among the younger ones, as well as a position of leadership and influence?" I snorted, answering her rhetorical question.

"Yeah, besides that," Waz snarked back, and stuck a blue tongue out in my direction.

"Lord Emrys! Lord Emrys!"

"Amun-Ra, I never thought I'd miss the days I was called ' _boss_ '," Khen muttered under his breath, but turned with a smile towards the young Batarian being shown into the room by the two guards outside. "Adrian… catch your breath, boy."

"They've… they've…" wheezed the poor boy, "They've done it! They've fixed it!"

No other explanation was needed as Khentu turned and took off at a run, with the rest of us doing our best to scramble and try to keep up with him. Wasilla's crutches flew into her hands with a weak biotic pulse, and she shrugged off any attempt to help her. In only a few short minutes, we were descending down to the underbelly of the Arena, through another door guarded by two men, and into the secured workshop.

Barco merely nodded in greeting, barely looking up from where he was still tinkering with the salvaged Communicator from the crashed Blood Pack shuttle.

"Barco."

"The Blood Pack communications encryption is still in place, but I have no idea how secure that is," the Salarian responded to Khentu's greeting and question wrapped up in a single word. "I _imagine_ that Aria's people secured all of the Emperor's communications when they retook the station. Why they would _bother_ to continue scanning for them with the war over and everyone dead, I don't know, but I can't promise that any conversations we have remains secret."

"So we should say nothing we wouldn't want Aria's people to hear," I said.

Khentu nodded.

"Aria hasn't _given_ us any communication equipment, but hasn't expressly _forbidden_ our communicating with the outside worlds," he shrugged. "I'm counting on that lapse of instructions should anybody up top object to our messages, as well as the innateness of the communiques. Plus, with her fancy-as-fuck summit she's got going on in the Uppers, I'm hoping we'll go unnoticed altogether."

Barco adjusted some last detail, and then closed the panel.

"Who wants to try it first?" he asked. "I've only made a cursory connection to the Communication Network, so it _should_ work."

Khentu looked around the room and then lifted an eyebrow at me. "Father?"

I blinked slowly. "Are you sure?"

Khentu gestured toward the communicator. "I think of all the people here, you trying to get in touch with your Church is the _most_ innocuous of communications we could have."

I slowly walked forward and took a hold of the pad that Barco extended towards me. There was a quiet shuffle behind me, and to my surprise, I saw that the others were slowly leaving to give me some degree of privacy. I took a moment and closed my eyes, both to send up an unspoken prayer, and to recall the Extranet address.

 _To: The Congregation for the Evangelization of Peoples, Citta del Vaticano, European Hegemony, Earth._

 _DIALING…. CONNECTED._

 _"Questo è il Centro Comunicazioni Vaticane. Chi è questo?"_ came a clipped voice.

"Cardinale MacKinnon, per favore," I stated slowly, more to remember my Italian than anything else. "Questo è Padre Ignazio di L'Omega Missione."

If the cleric in the communications center was surprised at hearing from a ghost, he did not show it in the slightest, giving only the briefest of pauses before continuing:

" _Uno momento, per favore_."

Cardinal Alexander MacKinnon, on the other hand, _did_ look like he was seeing a ghost when the connection went through to his offices.

"Father _Ignatius?"_ he half-hissed incredulously. "Holy Mary, my son, we had given you up for dead!"

"Not quite, Your Eminence," I smiled, and then remembered that I _was_ in fact clad from head to toe in a suit of battle-quality armor. "By God's Grace, I am still very much alive and well."

"Do you need extraction?" he asked, his eyes casting up and down my less-than-priestly garb. "We have heard the most _terrible_ rumors of the goings-on in the Terminus Systems."

"No, no, Your Eminence," I stated quickly, holding up a hand to cut him off. "In fact, the Lord had been working in wondrous ways since my arrival. Unorthodox ways, perhaps, but wondrous nonetheless…"

* * *

 **Bereft Mother**  
 _(Nakmor Chell)_

 **Date: 3-01-85**  
 **Location: The Deeps, Omega**

After Father Ignatius had contacted his homeworld, Khen and a few other had tried, with varying degrees of success, to contact other off-station contacts. Khentu's smuggling contacts had proven to be elusive, but he had left messages at all the Extranet addresses he knew. Wasilla had likewise tried to contact family members and friends on Illium and elsewhere, but apparently no one was answering. That had left the maiden in a rather depressed mood.

I had left them alone until the very end, after everyone else had gone first. After all, my only contact off-station was probably the least likely to be successful, and the most likely to raise red flags with Aria's people.

 _INPUTTING ADDRESS… DIALING…_

I felt a maternal pang as I instinctively reached to check on the pouch that I already knew was _not_ on my back. Little Khentu was sleeping safely in Father Ignatius' orphanage, though perhaps 'daycare' or 'school' might be a better name, as perhaps a third to a _half_ of the children in the Deeps spent at least a portion of their parents' work shifts there. It wouldn't be the first time I had left him there for a few hours, nor the last. But I never had to worry about his well-being – The Bloody One _never_ let the little one out of its sight, and woe to the being whom it perceived to be a threat to its Emperor's final charge.

 _ERROR… NO CONNECTION FOUND_.

I cursed silently as I typed in yet another address. Nakmor Syed was not the brightest of my brothers, nor the most pleasant to deal with. If my brother Mane still led the clan, there was a distinct probability that I never would have left. And thus an equal probability that I would have died on some shithole world following an old fool trying to revive an even older dream.

But it was Syed who had challenged him, and it was Syed who had been the victor of that challenge. And thus it had been _I_ who had quietly taken my leave of my clan and kin, and sought out new opportunities and adventures elsewhere. Now it was likewise I who was shifting through all the contacts and addresses I had, dialing each one multiple times, triple-checking the addresses, and dialing again.

All to no avail.

I had almost given up hope when suddenly, as my fingers were almost automatically shifting to dial the next set of numbers…

 _DIALING… CONNECTED._

Then there came a gravelly voice on the other end: "Who is this?"

Exhilaration leapt up within my soul.

"I am Nakmor Chell," I answered, "Sister of Nakmor Majed, and of Nakmor Syed."

There was a long pause. "Verify."

"Remember the Ancient Ways _,_ which guard the Ancient Truths," I stated grimly, giving our clan's words.

"Standby," came the gruff answer, and the vague silhouette shifted, and then another figure came into view. The image blinked and flickered due to either the poor equipment or the poor connection, probably both, but the figure was unmistakable.

"Sister." Nakmor Syed, leader of Clan Nakmor, shifted back into the chair behind him. There were _many_ more scars on his face than there had been the last time I had seen him, and one of his bright green eyes had gone dark, the scar tissue covering it completely.

"Brother," I answered, for the first time in my life genuinely glad to see him. "I had feared the worst."

"We are not dead yet," he grunted, and then waved a hand to his face. "Despite the best efforts of many."

"The _Fury_?"

"Battered," he chuckled wryly, "but the old girl is still flying." A pained look came across his face. "We lost Majed, during the retreat from Zadith Ban."

I bent my head in acknowledgement of the news of my sister's death. It was regrettable, certainly, but not entirely unexpected. This was war, and in war, there were casualties. This was a truth that the Krogan knew well.

"Who leads the female clan then?"

"Atria."

I nodded. Atria was a good girl, with a kind heart and spirit... still, she was extremely young for that role. It should have been _decades_ before she was asked to take on this task.

"Where are you now?" Syed was asking.

"Omega," I answered. Syed nodded, and I recognized the look of a hundred plans going through his thick crest.

" _Clan Leader_ ," I stated, "I would present _raogjof_ , if I may."

I actually bent my head slightly, bringing my hand to my chest in salute. Syed blinked slowly at the gesture and title given. My self-exile had come about largely because I had refused to acknowledge him in just this manner. He gave me a slight nod, which I took as permission to give my _raogjof_ , or military counsel.

"I have secured a position of power in one of the gangs here on-station," I stated. "And there is much room for growth, in numbers and in territory. If you can arrange it, the adding of the _Fury_ to the Legends will secure a position of power and respect, not only for Clan Nakmor, but also for yourself."

Syed grunted, and nodded, deeply in thought.

"I had planned on returning to Tuchanka," he said slowly. "But Clan Urdnot holds the ascendancy there. Their refusal to join Ganar Yulaz's Empire has left them strong, and the surrounding clans weakened."

"You would make obeisance to Urdnot?" I hissed incredulously. The rivalry between our clans went back to the days of the First Rebellion.

"Others have done so," Syed nodded. "Gatatog, Jorgal, Ravenor and even Talyth. Their numbers grow by the day. Urdnot Wrex will be the next leader of the Krogan, whether we like it or not."

"And do you mean to join them?" I asked.

"I have given it strong consideration," Syed confessed. "There is _nothing_ I would not do to save this clan."

I gave a surprised nod of my own. That was _not_ the proud and boastful Syed I remembered leaving. The war must have cut him much deeper than the new scars I could see on his face.

Syed sighed again, and then looked back at me. "Tell me more of these… Legends you have joined on Omega."

As I began my carefully-worded invitation for my family and clan to join me on the station controlled by their onetime mortal enemy, my mind was already slowly plotting the course ahead. My entire plan for Little Khen's future inheritance depended upon Syed's allegiance. I could not very well _tell_ him on an unsecured line that I now possessed and controlled The Heir of Ganar Yulaz. But once I had a circle of krogan here, we could _very slowly_ , very methodically build a krogan enclave here in the Deeps. Nothing overwhelming or exceedingly strong: Aria T'Loak was too paranoid for that to happen, at least for the next century or so. But afterwards, in three or four centuries, who could say what would be possible?

I blinked slowly as my tactical thought-rivers ran their courses. By that time, Little Khentu's human namesake, and indeed, _all_ of my friends in the Legends, would be dead, except for perhaps Wasilla. Ancestors willing, I would be dealing with the 12th or even 14th generation of Khentu Emrys' descendants.

But then again, by that time, Little Khentu would be the living embodiment of the Legend's founder, and his Legacy. By then, Aria T'Loak, if she had survived that long, would be an older matriarch, the honed, sword-edge reflexes dulled, if only slightly. But the example of Raik Vol alone was enough to show that, in the Terminus Systems, 'slightly' was so often the difference between glorious victory and bloody defeat. These were the distinctions that set krogan and asari politics apart from their impetuous, impatient, shorter-lived counterparts. Our plans were _millennia_ in their making, and even longer in their execution. Others thought in terms of their own lifetimes, or the lifetimes of their children.

We thought in terms of the lifetimes of planets and stars.

And here I was, laying only the first pebbles of the greater foundation that would one day become the third Krogan Empire.

* * *

 **Assumed Stranger**  
 _(Oran T'Loak)_

 **Date** : 3-01-85  
 **Location** : Talon Central Command, Tuhi District, Omega

I hitched a shoulder in a vain attempt to get comfortable. The Talons armor I wore was much heavier than the suit I was used to, and unlike this one, my previous set had been tailored specifically for me. Perhaps I needn't have bothered: no matter what I was wearing, I doubted it was going to fool any of the veteran Talons around me into thinking of me as 'one of them.'

And if the armor didn't fool them, they had only to ask my name.

Of course, strictly speaking, I wasn't really related to the Black Queen at all, nor were the vast majority of the T'Loaks who called her 'Auntie.' She and my mother had been close friends, back when they were both dancers under the Patriarch. When Aria had made her final gamble for the throne, she had survived, and my mother hadn't. My story wasn't unique by any means: hundreds of orphans had been made that day. And Aria had adopted them all, or at least those useful to her, as her 'nieces', occasionally as her 'daughters, or rarely even as 'sisters'... turning the name T'Loak from a curse to a pseudo-clan in one fell swoop.

Now, even as one of their youngest members, I sat in the leadership meeting of the Talons, at Auntie's 'request.'

Nyreen Kandros sat stiffly in her chair at the head of the table, looking like she was resisting the urge to scratch at the prosthetics that littered her new body. Her mandibles flared in emotion I struggled to read, and her new eyes _still_ took an extra moment to focus on distant objects. Turian eyes were weird that way – it took them nearly twice the time as other species to adapt to prosthetics.

Overall, it was enough to remind her, and the rest of us, that her attempt to die in a blaze of glory had been unsuccessful, and she was still early on the road to repairing, thanks to Auntie's generosity _._ That seemed to be another sore point that she wasn't quite sure how she felt about it yet, and that made her irritable.

 _And yet she and Auntie had been quite the pair, back in the day_ , I remembered, but Nyreen interrupted the rest of my thoughts.

"Alright," she hissed, straightening in her chair. "No bullshitting, whining, or babbling on. Give your reports and then we'll move on to what needs doing."

Her captains nodded, and the reports began with the Talons own operations to clean up a few loose ends left over from the War. The Silver Blades has been serious in their offer of assistance in hunting down the last of the True Sons, or at least those who survived Ganar Yulaz's invasion, and both groups had moved against the Sons in force. Their territory in Kima and Gozu had been hit hard, and their members had scattered to the comet winds... hopefully for good this time.

"And the Blades aren't claiming _any_ of their territory?" A Salarian named Kalie asked incredulously. "They are leaving it all for us?"

"This is personal for Kean," Nyreen waved dismissively. "And this is a chance for him to test his new recruits and bloody them a bit. He's not interested in expansion, beyond securing his little enclave in Doru. He's already building a bloody wall around the place."

"They've certainly got the Tigers on the run," nodded another turian captains. _His name is Cnaeus,_ I remembered. "And the Consortium whoresons are scrambling to purchase better armor and weapons for their fighters."

The reports went on for each section and district of the station, even if the Talons didn't have an official presence there. Any possibility of future violence between any of the other small-time gangs was brought up and analyzed as to how it could affect the station at large. I hid a thin smile as the potential for the Talons to become Omega's own police force, under Aria's personal direction, was becoming very apparent.

"No," Nyreen shook her head as another Salarian delivered a report on two minor gangs going to war. "There are too many civilians in that neighborhood who could get caught in the crossfire. Reach out to Iraal. Tell him the Talons are willing to mediate between him and the Eight-Zeros."

I smiled. Kandros was determined to use her newly-recovered favor with Aria to do what she always wanted: to protect the civilians of this station. For unfathomable reasons, she cared about _everyone_ on this station, not just her people. It had been the main reason for their original separation: Aria had called her a hopeless romantic, trying to alter the ways of the universe, and she had retorted that Aria was a petty tyrant, no better than the old hulk she had cast down three centuries ago.

Which had the added barb of being _true_ , I supposed.

Still, it made Kandros useful to Auntie as a tool, now that it had come time to take a more direct hand in ruling this station.

"Oran," Nyreen turned her head to me. "What's the situation in the Deeps?"

I shifted in seat, forwarding my report in turn.

"Milosa has her medical clinic almost fully set up down there," I stated. "It's been a way for us to keep a close eye on what's going on, but we have yet to get any of our people into Emrys' inner circle. Not surprisingly, Emrys is focusing more on getting fighters and workers into his compound. As far as we can tell, there has been no attempt to form any intelligence network on his part."

"It's not his style." Dexidos, another turian, shifted uncomfortably as all eyes turned to him. His mandibles flared with irritation. "He's an honorable warrior, for a human, he doesn't share his father's or uncle's racist ideals. What's more, he genuinely wants to be _friends_ with those around him. His word is good, and he'll assume that others' are as well unless directly proven otherwise."

 _Naïve then_ , I thought. _Or at the very least, trusting._

"You worked with him before, didn't you?" I asked, recalling some fragment of a report. "Do you think you can reach out to him?"

"We had to pull out and leave his people behind, both on the hunt for Archangel, and then again on Ganar Yulaz's invasion," Dex shook his head, and there was shame in his expression now. "We held back any kind of reinforcements to form a new defensive line, while his people probably suffered more than any of the other gangs on Doru just to slow down Yulaz down. He might not be in the most reconciliatory mood, as far as Talons and Brotherhood go."

Nyreen nodded, and there was a pained expression on her face as well. Whether it was her injuries, or the story of the massacre of the Blood Arrows, I couldn't tell. Maybe both; she hated to hear news of people suffering. In typical turian fashion, she took it all _very_ personally.

"Oran," she said slowly. "See if you can arrange passage down the Lift. Anyone who can rebuild in the Deeps, and start _turning a profit_ while doing it, is going to be someone we want on our side in the future. Meanwhile, his scrapyard foundries will come in handy as well."

"I will see it done, Commander," I nodded. Nyreen gave a curt nod of her own in return, and then rose stiffly. Everyone in attendance rose in unison as well, in very straightforward turian fashion. I slid over towards Dexidos as everyone began filing out of the room.

"So Dex," I said, planting a smile on my face, as well as my arm in his, "Tell me more about this Khentu Emrys. What's he like? What _does_ he like?"

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **So we have several interesting developments happening within the Deeps, and others from without. People are starting to sit up and notice the eclectic gang that has managed to survive the Deeps. As well as the one who leads them.**

 **As always, my thanks to Katkiller-V for his edits and the use of his AR-Mass Effect verse. **

**Please leave all thoughts/suggestions/reviews/comments/constructive criticisms in the reviews below, or PM me directly. I always love hearing from you, even if it's just "Good job."**

 **ROCK ON, my friends!**

 **-Tusken1602**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

BJ Hanssen - Glad you like it! And yes, it will be interesting to see where this all goes.

Arctech - The identity of Ptolemy's "allies" will be in a future chapter.

EE-RAH!


	24. Act 4: Breaking Even

**Holy Warrior**  
 _(Father Ignatius)_

 **Date: 4-16-2185**  
 **Location: The Arena, The Deeps District, Omega**

"May almighty God bless you, the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit."

The assembled congregation all crossed themselves, and repeated the "Amen," after me.

"The Mass is ended, my children," I stated gravely, and then made the sign of the cross again in the air, "Go in the peace of Christ."

"Thanks be to God," came from the seventy-odd people in the congregation. By a vast majority, they were mostly humans, but there were a few Batarian and Turian onlookers. But then again, I supposed that there wouldn't be too many alien followers of a human religion, but stranger things had happened in the Deeps. As I was putting the ceremonial _stole_ back in the well-worn pouch, Drella moved from the side where she had been waiting respectfully.

"Father," she said softly, "Medal ul Hederas is here, waiting to talk to you."

A glance over my shoulder showed my Batarian counterpart standing patiently but, I noted, carefully _outside_ the row of arches that marked the edge of my makeshift chapel. Thanking her, I straightened and walked out to greet him.

"I have the latest report from the hydroponics bays," he nodded at my probably-heavily accented Batarian greeting. The Batarian priest and I certainly had our differences, but his skill at gardening and the tending of our precious vegetable beds was undeniable, as the report before me showed.

"Interesting message, in that service of yours," Medal stated calmly as I read the report, casting a disapproving eye at the few Batarians who had been observers of the Catholic ceremony. These bent their heads to the left and carefully avoided making eye contact with him, their pace quickening a bit as they departed.

"I feel that religion is to bring peace to their neighbors, insofar as it rests with us," I replied amiably in my own language; His English was _much_ better than my Batarian and it made things simpler for both of us to speak the same tongue. "These folk have war and conflict enough in their daily lives. Here in my chapel, I hope I can bring the word of peace to those who need it."

"The Word of the Pillars prepares those of our faith to face such harsh realities," ul Hederas snorted, "It does not create a false haven from them."

"Interesting," I nodded, "I would love to have a further discussion with you on this matter. The Scriptures say, 'In the multitude of counselors, there is safety.'"

A new voice interjected before he could reply, "To which Medal would no doubt reply, 'The assembly of words often shields and screens from truth,' right?"

We both turned to see Khentu approaching, a grin splitting his face. The Batarian priest hissed through his teeth, and his reply was the tone a father takes correcting a child's mistake: "A _correct_ translation of that particular passage, Lord Emrys, would read, 'Words can conceal the Truth as easily as they defend it.' A slight difference, but the subtleties are vastly distinct from one another."

Khentu merely nodded at the correction, both of his hands linking behind his back. It was, I noticed, a distinctly Turian gesture of authority. How much of it was a casual stance and how much was a carefully calculated display of dominance, I did not know. Nor did Medal, whose head went _just_ to the left in deference.

"You will excuse us, I hope, Good Teacher?" Khentu asked. "I have business with our Logistics Coordinator."

"Of course," the Batarian priest nodded, bringing a hand across his chest in a Legends salute before turning on his heel and striding away. Khentu watched him go before turning back to me, gesturing us forward back towards his office.

"Any trouble there, do you think?"

I shook my head. "We disagree on enough, Lord knows, but I think deep down, he enjoys the theological debates we always get into during our weekly Kharshani Chess game."

"I just think he's thrilled to find someone who even knows _how_ to play that stupid game," Khen snorted.

"Now, now," I admonished, "Just because you're _terrible_ at it, doesn't mean you can…"

"Emrys! Lord Emrys!"

The piercing cry cut through the air as we were making our way through the Arena Marketplace. Khentu looked left, and then right, trying to locate the source of the shout.

"Justice, Lord Emrys! Justice from the Lord of Legends!"

A young human woman knelt in the dirt, her arms outstretched in supplication. Behind her was a younger man in the armor of the Legends, looking somewhere between 'embarrassed' and 'mortified.'

Khentu blinked slowly, and then I leaned over as he drew himself up into a more formal pose.

"I recognize the girl," I murmured softly, "Her name is Sarah Morgan. Nice girl; she came to Omega with her parents in search of work. They died in the Battle, and she wound up down here."

Khentu nodded thoughtfully at my words, and then turned back towards the girl. "You have the right. Speak freely, Sarah Morgan."

The young girl started at her name, and it took her a moment to recover, but then she stood slowly to her feet and pointed a finger at the young man standing behind her.

"He," she said, glaring daggers, "Promised to marry me. And now I'm pregnant, and he won't do it."

Khentu turned on one heel to better face the young man in question. "OK, Brother Amos, now you. Did you make a promise to Ms. Morgan here? And you're the father?"

The young man hesitated, then nodded twice.

Khen went on, with a chilly glare: "That was smart. Lying to Ms. Morgan here would be bad. Lying to me would be stupid."

He didn't add 'fatally stupid.' From the way young Amos' tanned face went pale as he nodded again it wasn't necessary, but he kept his eyes level. He was a big blond youngster in his early twenties. The red Trident tattoo of the Hellions was on his forehead, faded now, but showing his origins all the same.

"OK, there's no law here against being a fink, or a prick," Khen began, and the girl's face fell. "There is, however the small matter of your solemn oath to act, quote, with honor towards all, and injustice towards none, unquote. In case you hadn't noticed, we've got more privileges than other people, and more obligations, too. Breaking promises is right up there with things Legends are not supposed to do; and that does _not_ mean just promises to other Legends and their families, in case the regs aren't clear ... and they are. Any explanation, Brother?"

"My lord, I ... I just didn't want to get married yet," the younger man said helplessly. "It's not-I'm only just now getting started here and, and-"

"Well, you should have thought of that, shouldn't you?" Khentu said. "Amun-fucking-Ra, son, do I have to tell you where babies come from? Or what to do about it if you're not angling to reproduce yet?"

The girl flushed more deeply; Amos shuffled his feet. "We did," he said. "I mean, we were careful but ..."

"I don't fucking _want_ to know," Khentu cut him off, holding up a hand. "The end result here is that she's in the family way, and you're in the fatherly way."

He turned to the young girl. "Do you still want to marry this idiot?"

The girl hesitated, but then met Khentu's gaze evenly. "Yes," she nodded. "I'm… I'm angry with him, but I still love him."

"Smart girl," Khentu nodded and turned back to the member of the Legends. "It's not every girl who knows the difference between being angry with someone, and not in love with them anymore. If I were you, Brother, I'd think long and hard, and with something other than my dick, about letting this one go."

Amos' eyes were on the ground now, but then they slowly turned back towards the young woman.

"Yes sir," he said finally. "I just… I want what's best for Sarah, I swear I do. And for the baby. I'm… I'm not sure that's me."

Khen lifted a hand and put it on both of their shoulders.

"And I can't give you that answer," he said softly, and then he looked over his shoulder at me and gave me a broad smile and a wink. "But I can point you in the direction of the wisest and most honorable man I know: Father Ignatius. Go to him with your cares and questions, and he'll help you find a way. Always works for me."

Then he spun on his heel, leaving the two parents, _saints preserve us, they're little better than children_ , I thought, with me. I reached out and took both of Sarah's hands in mine, and casting a glare at the reluctant father.

"Come to Mass tonight, my children," I said, managing a reassuring smile, "I will speak to the both of you there, and if you are both willing, then we shall make a plan for the ceremony to come."

The two of them thanked me, and after within a few strides, I had caught up to a clearly perturbed Khentu Emrys.

"Ye gods bear witness," he stated, giving a half-kick to an empty crate nearby. "When I took this job, I never thought it would entail being a bloody _nursemaid_ and _chaperone_ to every Tom, Dick, and Harry in the place."

"To be a leader is to be Warrior, Father, and King," I said slowly, "Sometimes all at once."

"We should appoint some kind of judicial appeal system, though," Khentu stated. "Something that _doesn't_ entail everyone flagging me down in the middle of the street."

"You're always going to have some level of that, Khen," I shrugged, "You're _the_ most famous person in the Deeps after all."

"Yes, but I need to have someone to tell them to _go to_ in order to get their problems solved," Khentu hissed through his teeth, before giving me a mischievous grin. "I'm assuming, of course, that you'd rather I _didn't_ make you Supreme Adjudicator of the Deeps?"

"I would rather juggle rabid skunks," I deadpanned.

By his blank expression, I realized he had no idea what skunks were, much less rabid ones. But his grin was enough to communicate that he got the _spirit_ of the phrase.

"Surely there are at least a _dozen_ upstanding citizens that we can appoint to overseer at least the _minor_ disputes, at least? The higher justice or _really_ serious offenses can be brought up to the Legends."

"I… heard back from my superiors," I said slowly. "It would seem that two or three others have volunteered to join me here on the station."

 _"Here_? From Earth? Are they crazy?"

"No more than I am," I shrugged.

"Amun-Ra, Ignatius," Khentu hissed, "how do I put this?"

"That we're _both_ not exactly thrilled to have Off-worlders coming into an already culturally tense situation, when they likely have _never_ left the homeworld before?"

"Glad to see we're on the same page," Khentu sighed in relief. "I would love to pawn off this judge problem on _you_ , but the reality is, we really need to keep priests and religion separate from judges and the law. Otherwise the supplicants will be subject to the religious bias of the priest, both positively and negatively. Last thing we need is for your congregation and Medal's to go from wars of words to actually fistfights."

"Separation of church and state," I grinned.

"That's a really good way of putting it," Khentu replied, raising an eyebrow in admiration.

"It's hardly original," I shrugged.

"There are a few older residents down here who are struggling to put in a full shift's work," Khentu went on, "Amadeus, for example."

I nodded. The old Turian mentioned had led a group down here about four weeks ago. They had all been settled into the same area, and he had been our main contact with that community. He was personally too old to join the Legends, and to be honest, wasn't _really_ interested in doing so.

"He might be good candidate," I agreed. "Others might be people like Urfa or perhaps Auntie. The rest of their local communities _already_ look up to them. It might behoove us to give them some kind of formal authority _from_ you directly, rather than have them set themselves or have others set them up as _alternatives_ to the Legends."

"That's good thinking," Khen agreed. "We'll bring it up formally in our meeting next shift. You bring a few names, and I'll do the same."

I nodded.

"By the way," Khentu grinned, "I don't think I ever asked: how did your religious superiors take hearing that you'd joined a lawless gang of cutthroats and criminals… again?"

"Better than I thought they might," I laughed, "But the Lord works in mysterious ways, His wonders to perform. That's the only explanation I can make for how an Outsider like me has survived for this long on this station."

"You've here nearly a year now, Ignatius," Khentu said. "You're not an Outsider any longer: you're one of us now. Congratulations. I would've baked you a cake, but you know…"

I blinked, letting the jest go unanswered as I took in the weight of his words. _Heaven and saints_ , he was right. It _would_ be a year since I first came on-station next month. I shook my head slightly in bewildered wonderment as I mentally went through the series of events that had led me to this place.

" _Dear Father, in Your infinite generosity, please grant us continued graces and blessing throughout the coming year,_ " I breathed as I turned back towards my own office.

* * *

 **Omega's Child**  
 _(Khentu Emrys)_

 **Date: 4-20-2185**  
 **Location: The Deep Docks, The Deep, Omega**

"By the looks of things, I'd say business is good," Oran T'Loak stated, watching the hustle and bustle around us. All seven of the docking berths had been repaired by now, which, given the short length of time and the state the docks _had_ been at the beginning of this project, spoke much for the supreme effort the Legends had put into this district.

I just shrugged. "There is no shortage of scrap on Omega," I replied with an even politeness. I and the rest of the Legends had been… less than enthusiastic to see a Talon show up at the Lifts, but the family name had brought the usual reaction: surprise, skepticism, and reluctant respect. But she was easier to deal with than most Asari that I had known. For one thing, she was uncharacteristically modest for her species. Or at least, she didn't pretend like she was _Amun-Ra_ 's gift to the station.

"The only other alternative is to load it into junk trawlers and haul it out to die Waffe's people," she answered. "Certainly cheaper to send it down to your foundries then to drag it halfway across the Terminus."

 _That_ brought an arched eyebrow of surprise from me.

"I thought the Blue Claws up on Doru were…" I began, but she cut me off:

"The Blue Claw's foundries were destroyed in the latest gang war. They were too close to their rivals, and not strong enough to stand alone."

A snort of derision escaped me. "And not smart enough to make friends, it seems."

"Certainly foolish enough of to make enemies," she nodded, seemingly sharing my opinion of the small-time Doru thugs.

The Lystheni salarian beside her, bearing the twin crossed fists of the Brotherhood of the Fallen, shifted uneasily. "You requested our presence here, human," Camillana hissed. "What is it that you would discuss?"

The Lystheni _looked_ very much like regular salarians, but about a thousand years of genetic drift had resulted in their being nearly six feet tall on average, and much more broad-shouldered compared their smaller cousins from Sur'Kesh.

"Business," I said simply, nodding at the ship coming into the nearest dock. It was an older model _Ohulu-_ class freighter, with several obvious modifications made from the base model. It looked for all the worlds like a Thessian _Shay_ -tortoise, but whoever was at the helm was clearly skilled as the ship, with a deftness belying its bulky design, glided into the docking bay.

But when the gangplank opened, a familiar-looking volus strode out, followed by the ever-present elcor first mate.

"Nom Rota!" I called out, "Kapena!"

Greetings were exchanged, as were introductions to the Talon and the representative of the Brotherhood of the Fallen that were present.

"I wish I had gotten your message sooner, Arrow-clan," Nom stated, nodding greetings to the others.

"Legend-clan," I corrected him, but the tone of voice made me furrow my brow all the same. "What's up?"

"Not in any kind of trouble, I hope?" Laila asked beside us. Kapena shifted his feet uneasily.

"With slight hesitation: that remains to be seen," he answered in his rumbling accent. "We have accepted a contracted position with the Comet Sands Corporation, out of Cartagena Station."

"Cartagena?" I repeated. "That's die Waffe's jurisdiction. What in the all the seven hells are you doing throwing in with the _Steel King_ , of all people?"

"Needed the crew," Rota answered honestly. "Kapena and I _used_ to be able to handle things, back when we were making simple runs between Council Space and the Terminus. Now… that's next to impossible to do, without a fully-armed crew and a heavily-escorted convoy."

Everyone present nodded gravely. How quickly the political situation had shifted in only the past couple years. It was even within _human_ memory when travel between Council and Terminus space was pretty common. Uncomfortable and certainly inconvenient, but certainly possible. Now… you couldn't approach _any_ of the relays between here and the Widow System without a dozen armed ships descending upon you, ready to blast anyone and anything into scrap metal.

Kapena bowed his head mournfully. "With nostalgic sadness: Gone are the days of the independent smugglers and the freelancers. With trepidation: Lines are being drawn in the sand, and everyone is being called to pick a side."

"Well," I said slowly, my mind racing, "Let's focus on the positives: die Waffe is probably one of the closest allies of Aria. You might have ended up with one of the Eclipse's shell companies or wound up in Cessa's loose alliance out on the Rim. Let's do what we can, and we'll work our way up from there. Pass the word up whatever chain of command you have, and we'll get to work drafting up a formal contract and trade agreement."

"That we can do, Legend-clan," Nom Rota nodded.

I turned back towards the representatives behind me.

" _This_ is the business I would discuss with you," I stated simply. When they remained silent, I continued, "The Talons and the Brotherhood are two of the largest gangs on the station, but like us, you _don't_ have any ships. So we can all either crawl, hats in hand, to the Silver Blades, the Merchant's Guild on Tuhi, or the Commerce Masters up in the Carrd District and accept having terms and payment dictated to us... or we can take another option."

"What, we can come to _you_ instead?" Camilla scoffed. "What's so special about _you_?"

"Fair prices and equal partnerships," I answered. "And best news of all: we're all too far apart from each other to worry about one another's territorial ambitions."

I nodded to each of the representatives in turn. "The Brotherhood is secure in Cala, the Talons have the favor of the Dark Lady, and the Legends are firmly confined to the Deeps."

I nodded towards Nom Rota. "That will give _your_ superiors confidence in trading with us, as they can rest easy knowing they won't have to renegotiate with a new gang every two to three cycles, taking and retaking the various docks."

Heads nodded, albeit slowly and almost reluctantly, though honestly I had little idea as to how much Nom's new bosses would care... so I'd have to up the display of anger on the next bit to make sure it stuck.

 _Time to slam the door then._

"And what's more, _you owe me_." Faces and expressions hardened as the tension thickened considerably. "Remind Nyreen Kandros who it was that held the God-Emperor at bay for _five shifts_ , and ask her how many Talons are alive today because of it."

I whirled to the Brotherhood representative before Oran could form a reply. "And ask Eldest Brother Kith how many of his Brotherhood _I saved_ from certain death on Doru, and covered their retreat back to Cala. And ask him _how many_ reinforcements he sent to _save me or mine_."

Camillana opened her mouth, and then shut it when she saw the expression on my face, and on the faces of the armed Legends all around us. I had made certain all of those present were veterans of the Fall from Doru, and whose memories of the Talons' and Brotherhood's abandonment would still be fresh on their minds, and weigh heavily on their hearts.

"So go back to your superiors and tell them that this is their chance to make good on broken promises, and have a fresh start with us as friends and business partners, or else continue be regarded as betrayers and _cowards_."

It looked like neither representative was impressed with my speech, Camillana managing to look horribly offended, and Oran T'Loak mildly amused. I made a gesture, and Laila gave me a faint nod as she turned and led the escort party for the two visitors back to the main lift.

"I don't think either clan will _thank_ you for the harsh words, however true they may be," Nom Rota said quietly once they were a safe distance away. "I'm not sure either was taken with your words either."

"They weren't meant for them. The message will play with Red's Turian sense of honor, and Kith's religious sense of guilt," I shrugged. "And both of them have the good business sense to accept the offer anyway. _This_ was just a reminder that the Legends may forgive, but we do not forget. Making the offer without the veiled threat would just make me look weak, like I was _begging_ for their friendship and help."

"With doubtful pessimism: I hope that pays off, Little Khenny."

"What cargo are you carrying at the moment?" I asked.

"Just some tech mods," Nom answered, "slated to be dropped off at one of the stations around Urdak."

I grinned, "Tell you what, we'll set you up with some crates of our product. Take them and show them to whoever you feel can use them most, and we'll set up a ferrying service, with a handsome profit there for all involved."

"If there's anything that's there always a need for, it's good building materials and a place to get rid of your scraps," Laila nodded.

Kapena's gills swelled in an Elcor equivalent of a grin. "With undertones of pride: you always had a head for business, Khentu Emrys."

"I learned from the best," I grinned back. "Now come on, you two: We've got a lot of catching up to do."

* * *

 **Bereft Mother**  
 _(Nakmor Chell)_

 **Date: 4-25-2185**  
 **Location: The Deep Docks, The Deeps, Omega**

"You should have told me, Chell."

"You would have said no," I stated simply, smiling as Khentu gave me what he thought was an intimidating glare of disapproval.

"And now?" he asked.

"Now we have another load of refugees arriving at the Deeps, looking for a home," I shrugged. "This happens every other day."

"Not loads of _Krogan_ , we don't," Khentu retorted through clenched teeth. "Not on board an _active warship_."

"The war is over," I shrugged. "Plus, if Aria's people thought the _Fury_ was a threat, do you think they would even let it within a parsec of the station?"

A noncommittal grunt answered, but the point was made. As much pride as my clan, myself included, took in the _Nakmor's Fury_ , the fact was that it was an ancient trawling hulk, bleeding eezo and barely hanging onto life support and core containment. The rusted thing was a few _centuries_ old by now, but my father and the clan leaders after him had poured more credits than the hulk was probably worth into maintaining and retrofitting the ancient systems over the many years of its life.

Now the ship's shuttle, the _Rage,_ was slowly coming down onto the landing platform, bearing my brother and a select few of the clan elders.

"So… your brother," Khentu began.

 _"Half_ -brother," I grunted. "We share the same mother… and precious little else."

"Your half _-_ brother," Khentu began again, "I'm guessing I've got about six months before he tries to kill me and take over for himself?"

"You've got me and Blood to guard against that," I replied, carefully avoiding answering the question outright. "Plus, he needs us right now _much_ more than we need him."

"They're your _family_ , Chell," Khentu sighed. "I'm not going to kick them out the airlock."

"They are _refugees_ ," I clarified. "Seeking shelter here _exactly_ like hundreds more before them. What's more, we need to convey to Syed that he also subject to the same _laws_ as the other refugee parties. Giving him preferential or special treatment is just asking for trouble."

"I always assume that Krogan are planning to betray me," came the surprisingly girlish tones of Muerta'Harel nar Galaw. "That way when they _do,_ I'm prepared for it, and if they _don't_ , I'm pleasantly surprised.

The quarian outcast turned her helmet towards me, the skull she'd scratched into the glass now plain to see at this distance. "Umm… no offense, Chell."

"None taken," I nodded, smiling as I did so. "As a Krogan, I can wholeheartedly endorse such a wise and practical philosophy of life."

Any answer the other two might have made was lost in the roar of the _Rage_ 's engines as the ancient shuttle touched down less than twenty yards away from us. There were more scorch marks on it then I remembered, and several brand-new panels that had been obviously replaced since I had last seen the smaller vessel.

 _It's been three decades_ , I chided myself. _Did you think that everything was going to stay the same while you were gone?_

But that was the way with wanderers: to them, 'home' was a constant, as were the people who dwelt there, as they moved through the ever-changing galaxy. But reality was often a very different tale altogether, placing 'home' firmly the past, with loved ones growing old, dying, or changing with their own life experiences.

This thought was only confirmed once the door slid open.

Nakmor Syed stepped down onto the platform, a giant, one-eyed hulk of a Krogan. The scar tissue formed almost a checkerboard pattern across his crest and face, blotting out one of his piercing green eyes.

 _A Corrosive round_ , I thought now that I could see the now-healed injury for myself, _or something like it_. _Maybe a phosphorous grenade; something that prevented his body's regeneration abilities from reforming and reshaping the eye._

"Sister."

The word rumbled even above the sound of the engines winding down, and a genuine smile spread across his face. I stepped forward, and our head touched for a moment. I was surprised at the tenderness of the gesture. The old Syed I left behind would have slammed a mind-blanking headbutt in greeting and laughed at the staggering family member in question. Now, there was what appeared to be genuine joy in his one remaining eye, masking barely-concealed pain.

I turned and extended a hand towards Khentu, who stepped forward now, all trepidation at greeting a Krogan clan leader gone from his face at least.

"Nakmor Syed, this is Khentu Emrys," I said in introduction, "Lord of the Legends here in the Deeps of Omega."

Syed nodded, casting an eye around at the construction and the bustle of the Docks. Khentu nodded in return, bringing a hand across his chest in salute before speaking in only-slightly accented, though horribly soft-spoken, Krogan: "I give you greetings, Clan Nakmor. May your foes be strong enough to keep you sharp."

The last sentence was more of a _parting_ statement than a greeting, but it was enough to bring Syed's attention fully back to the comparatively diminutive human in front of him, before replying in the same language:

"And I bring greetings, to this place and to its Guardians."

Syed brought his own arm slowly across his chest, mimicking Khentu's own salute.

"You speak our language well, for a human," he stated admiringly. Then he turned and introduced the other Krogan who had accompanied, and then was introduced in turn to Laila Adonis, Father Ignatius, and the other Legends who had gathered as a part of the welcoming party. There was a slightly awkward greeting between Atria and myself. The poor girl was only too aware that if I hadn't left, her role as the leader of the female clan would have fallen to _me_ after Majed's death. But I had given her what I _hoped_ was a reassuring smile and a warm welcome to the Deeps.

Pretty soon, we were seated around a large stone table in one of the Arena's larger rooms, which had begun its existence as a Krogan banqueting hall, if the carved murals on the walls were any indication. The distinctly Krogan architecture of the Arena further served to put Syed and the other Nakmor representatives at ease as refreshments were served. It was an extraordinarily cheap Ryncol that they had been served, but the way their eyes lit up when it was handed to them, I would have guessed it had been a long time since the barrels had run dry on the _Fury_.

The drinks and the conversation were flowing easily now. The language had shifted to Batarian now, as it was the language that the largest number of those present spoke in common. Father Ignatius followed along as best as he could, his Alliance-style translator putting him about two seconds behind everyone else at the table as the device struggled to translate the various dialects and accents of the party.

"Do you divide your people by families or by trade, sir?" the priest asked, our Logistics Coordinator already trying to work out which space would be big enough to house over one hundred Krogan, ranging from yearling females to grizzled warriors.

"Our clan usually divides along the male and female clans," Atria answered. "If it can be arranged, we will continue to do the same."

"We have a medical center, if you have any sick in your party," Laila interjected, and then paused when all the Krogans' faces fell.

"We… _have_ no wounded or sick amongst us," Atria said finally, and her eyes flickered to me. "During the retreat from Zada Ban… the hospital took a direct hit. Majed was there, trying to arrange for the evacuation there."

"Vaporized in an instant," Syed said gravely, and his fist clenched reflexively. "From fucking orbit. There was no honor in it."

Khentu closed his eyes and bowed his head respectfully for a moment.

"Will…" he paused, and I could see he was trying his best to frame the difficult question as gently as possible. "Will you be pursuing the Blood-Right claim for your dead from Shaka ul Yesh? If so, I cannot allow the rest of the Legends to be drawn into a blood feud, however just its cause may be," he added quickly at the end.

Syed rumbled approval, but then shook his head. "We took blood for our fallen during the final retreat. Our dead rest in peace with the Ancestors, avenged in full. I would not draw out the feud any longer than necessary, at least as far as it rests with me."

Khentu nodded, trying his best not to look overwhelmingly relieved, and I felt a breath of relief I did not know I was holding escape me as well. Shaka ul Yesh might have been the newest and youngest Warlord in the wake of the war, but he was a true Warlord with Aria's favor all the same. Any fight against him would have resembled a Varren fighting a Thresher Maw.

With that worry out the way came more details. There were one hundred and thirty four Krogan on-board the _Fury_ who would need to fed, armed, and housed in the Deeps, and as I could have guessed, the _Fury_ itself was limping along on its last legs.

"We were planning on using Docking Bay 1 for the _Iswanee_ , assuming we could hire Nom Rota full-time," I countered. "Now that is no longer an option. The _Fury_ is not an overly-large vessel. I do not see why we could not dock her directly to the station."

"In an absolutely worst-case scenario, it would also serve well as an evacuation plan," Muerta stated, surprising me with her support of the proposition.

"In order to be of any use beyond more scrap metal, she would need major refits and repairs," Syed admitted. "Repairs that, from what I have seen, appear far beyond the scope of the Legends' capabilities."

"Could we contract the repairs out to Stormwall or Conquest?" Laila asked, but Khentu shook his head.

"Nothing doing," he said. "They're full to capacity repairing the remains of the Blood Pack fleet for half a dozen of the major players of the Terminus Systems. die Waffe's people won't even be _interested_ in a single repair job from someone that they will see as Omega gutter-trash."

"Not to mention that the _cost_ of such repairs from one of the primary shipyards would surely put us back in the red for some time," Father Ignatius added. "And we've only _just_ begun to turn a profit from our scrapyards and metal foundries. Losing a docking berth for a full-time ship will also drain profits from our shipping and warehousing revenues."

"There is no need to keep the ship docked full-time," Atria offered. "We could man the ship with a skeleton crew and keep it in synchronous orbit around the station, ready to be called in at need."

This prompted more discussions as to the pros and cons of the Legends possessing their own ship, to be used for supply runs, cargo and shipping, and extra muscle at extreme need. The only weapons aboard the ship were severely-obsolete fixed starboard and port gun emplacements, which, order to bring any of her guns to bear against an enemy, would require the _Fury_ to present her entire broadside to any potential foe. Even a modern _patrol_ shuttle could probably outmaneuver and make mincemeat of the trawler. However, Syed was quick to point out, the very thing that made her useless as a ship of war made her _perfect_ for a blockade runner. When the _Fury_ made her escape from Zada Ban, there were ships on all sides of her anyway, requiring only minimal maneuvering to target and injure.

"How many planetary blockades are we planning on running through with this ship?" Father Ignatius asked, clearly uncomfortable with the idea.

Syed shrugged. "Besieged colonies and fortresses will often pay the best prices for merchandise," he answered with a grin. "When people are eating their shoes, they will quickly part with their most precious jewels and valuables for food."

"There is a much smaller Elcor-run dockyard in this nebula," Khentu stated suddenly, cutting off further discussion among the Legends. "In the Batalla system."

"Thunawanuro," Syed nodded. "I know of it."

"Their setup is too small to service most of the repair jobs needed for the remnants of Ganar Yulaz's fleet," Khen continued thoughtfully. "Laila, work with Nakmor Rahms here and get a full list of the repairs and refits needed for the _Fury_. Then contact the colony and get the best estimate you can for the repairs. Having a cargo ship that _doesn't_ need the lion's share of any profits or cargo fees could take us into the Big Leagues on this station. There are a dozen groups that would pay through the nose for cargo space back and forth from the Nemean Abyss or the Ismar Frontier."

As the Turian and the Krogan engineer nodded, he turned and faced my half-brother, rising from his seat.

"So it comes to this then, Nakmor Syed," he said in a carefully even tone. "Your sister has vouched for your skill and valor, and that of your clan. By our laws, this qualifies all of you as candidates to join the ranks of the Legends. If you and your clan's warriors join us, it would not be as allies or partners, free to come and go as you please. To be a Legend means to be subject to our ranks and our laws. So the only question of weight and worth is: Are you willing to serve as an officer under me? You see that each of my officers has the opportunity to give and offer counsel here at the High Table as equals, but it is my word that is final."

Syed turned his head to make eye contact with each of the Krogan that accompanied him, Atria and he sharing an almost-imperceptible nod. Then he looked over at me, and I gave a slight nod of my own. Then he also rose, his massive form dwarfing the human on the other side of the conference table.

"My sister has also vouched for _your_ skill and valor, Khentu Emrys," he said, "And if you knew her as long as I had, that is no meager or slight feat to achieve."

A massive hand extended, Khentu's own disappearing into the massive palm. There was a long pause as the two males stared at one another. Commendably, Khentu's gaze was unflinching as it held the gaze of the scared and marred face.

"We are with you… _Lord_ Emrys," Syed said at last. "Clan Nakmor is not a large one, nor are our warriors numerous, but we will lend our strength to yours, and each Nakmor warrior fights with the strength of _ten_ other Krogan."

"If they are half the warrior their leader is," Khentu nodded gravely, "Our enemies are doomed."

That prompted a chuckle from my brother as Khentu reached over, placed his helmet on his head, and reared back to deliver a sharp head-butt to the center of my brother's crest. I could tell that Syed was barely _phased_ by the actual blow, but it was the gesture that amused him as he broke out in a barking laughter.

"Well said, and well done, human!" he roared, and the other Krogan around the table pounded their fists into the table or their breastplates, cheering their own approval. "It is done then; the bargain is struck."

"Father Ignatius and Muerta'Harel here will work with bringing in the rest of your people, minus whoever you need to run the _Fury_ ," Khentu stated, and even through the helmet, I could tell that the blow had _staggered_ him, and he would probably have a headache in a couple of hours.

As congratulations, welcomes, handshakes and headbutts were exchanged around the room, I looked over to Drella by the door, and nodded to give to her the signal she had been patiently waiting for. As her slender figure disappeared around the corner, I caught my brother's eye and gestured towards the corner of the room. Rohm and Atria both had their Omni-Tools spinning up, sharing details and making plans with the other Legends present, and we managed to step far enough away to gain a small degree of privacy.

"Thank you, Drella," I said gently as the young Asari maiden handed me the carefully-wrapped bundle.

"He's sleeping like a… well, like a baby, Miss Chell," she smiled back, and then turned to give my brother and I a polite amount of space. I brought the bundle around between Syed and myself, Little Khentu still fast asleep in the sling. Syed's eye widened, and he took the bundle almost gingerly before peering an unspoken question at me.

"An orphan of the war," I explained. "But to all that ask, he _is_ Nakmor."

" _Sah_ , it is good," Syed nodded approvingly, a tender expression on his face. "There are enough Krogan _lost_ to this war, Ancestors bear witness. It is good to preserve the life of such a little one."

A clawed and scarred finger reached out with a contradictory gentleness that stroked the crest shards on top of the little head.

"Especially _this_ little one," I said, lowering my voice ever so slightly.

"Oh?" Syed asked, catching my tone and raising an eyebrow ridge. "What is so special about him?"

"Brother," I shook my head, feeling a slight grin growing on my face. "You have _no idea_ …."

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **So, the Legends are starting to, as the chapter title suggests, break even in their economic business endeavors. But success comes with its own set of challenges, be they social, military, or economical. Also featuring here are a couple of familiar names from my Beacon's Effect** **series, albeit warped and influenced by Katkiller-V's alternate universe (to whom I give all thanks for both his edits and the use of his wonderful Mass Effect Universe). **

**Additionally, we are beginning to see Khentu and the Legends making a genuine effort to transform the Deeps into just another District on Omega, rather than a pseudo-prison, or an Island of Misfit Toys. It's no Illium Minor, and it's VERY far from being any kind of red-light district, but they're slowly but surely turning the Deeps and the Arena into a home.**

 **As always, I welcome all thoughts/suggestions/reviews/comments/constructive criticisms in the reviews, or PM me directly. I always love hearing from you, even if it's just "Good job."**

 **ROCK ON, my friends!**

 **-Tusken1602**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

BJ Hanssen - Yep. You read that right. (See Chapter 18 of Another Realm VII: Hellhounds).

seabo76 - Thanks so much! Please feel free to launch into as many avenues as you like! I always welcome input and ideas from readers/reviewers! Plus, it helps me to see how the story as a whole strikes a reader who doesn't know where this is all going.

Arctech - That's the main idea with this story: to tell the story of the little people who make up the grand scheme of things. All of these events are grand and life-altering to _them_ , but in a galactic scheme of things, it's all pretty small potatoes, if truth were told. That said, the actions of a few do tend to steamroll and create and influence other actions, and so on and so forth. And so with many blows, even from a tiny axe, the mightiest of trees can be felled.

Guest - No, Aria doesn't tend to react well to people killing asari with the last name of T'Loak. And the rest of the station knows that too.

EE-RAH!


	25. Interlude: Dangers Below

**Chosen Heir**  
 _(Ptolemy Emrys)_

 **Date: 7/11/2185**  
 **Location: _MSV Strontium Mule,_ Arinlarkan System, Omega Nebula**

I stepped over the figure of the captain, taking in the gore on the bridge of the merchant vessel. The captain had proven remarkably reluctant to give us the codes to the canisters in the loaded cargo bay, but Abdul was a master with his knives, and knew _exactly_ where to cut a man to cause the maximum amount of pain, _just_ shy of death.

"Do _you_ know whose cargo this is?" the dying man gasped. "Do you know _who_ you're stealing from? You _dumb bastards_ , Aria is going to _fucking_ …"

A report from the rifle in Quan's hands ended whatever vague threat the captain was about to make.

"Brave, for an unbeliever," the priest stated admiringly. "He lasted much longer than I thought he would."

"He _was_ a human, after all," Abdul sighed, wiping the blood from his knives. "If he had been a _four-eyes_ , it wouldn't have taken _half_ the time it did."

I snorted in agreement. Batarians, for all their talk of nobility and honor, were quick to betray their comrades and families, and all it took was the promise of stopping the pain. And to Abdul's credit, he always _did_ make the pain stop; with a knife to the main artery of the neck.

 _We are men of our word,_ I grinned.

"Divine One," Quan bowed slightly in my direction, "the crew is in the process of moving the cargo into the _Duat's_ hold."

"Very good, beloved of Ra," I replied, watching him flush with pride addressing him by his ceremonial title. "Close the door of the bridge and place guards to ensure we are not disturbed."

Abdul and the priest both gave me strange looks for a moment, and then understanding dawned and two guards were placed outside the bridge before the door was sealed shut again, leaving only the three of us and the corpses on the floor.

"Now we can be assured that we will not be overheard," I stated, still keeping my voice soft. "No matter how many anti-monitoring devices we employ, the _Duat_ is _still_ the property of our allies, and therefore may employ redundant systems for eavesdropping."

"The Son of Ra is Wisdom itself," Quan bowed low, while Abdul merely grinned with amusement.

"We have made good progress these past few weeks," he stated, "but the fact remains…"

"That our recruitment method is too slow," I finished for him. "That the children of Amun-Ra are too few in the Terminus Systems."

Both of my captains merely nodded.

"What is the status of our own _…_ crew?" I asked.

"Several of our more recent converts _are_ former crewmen of various ships," Abdul answered. "They are familiar with the engine and propulsion systems of the _Duat_. At… _need_ ," he stated, stressing the word, "They could monitor and manage them without the help of our allies."

"Hannah Rollins is a skilled pilot in her own right," Quan added. "She reports that she is confident that she could occupy the helm… at _need_."

"So that leaves only the navigation systems and the stealth drives that our people are wholly ignorant of," I said, nodding slowly. I reached up a hand to stroke the beard on my chin, waxed and oiled to a fine point, as benefiting my new status as a true Pharaoh. "Have Rollins find two or three willing Arrows, and begin running them through the basics of ship control. If… _need_ arises, I am not comfortable with only _one_ Arrow being able to fly the ship."

"As Pharaoh commands," Abdul bowed his chin in acknowledgement.

"Quan," I continued, "I want you and two or three of your closet cadre to get your hands on the technical readouts of the navigation system the _Duat_ employs. Study them as if your lives depended on it. If the Day of Need arises, they very well might."

"It shall be done, Voice of the Sun," Quan bowed in turn.

"And the stealth drive, my Pharaoh?" Abdul asked. I inhaled deeply through my nose, and let the breath out slowly.

"That will be exceedingly more difficult," I admitted. "But it is several years old by now, and probably only useful against the most basic of colonial detection grids. If we run into a Batarian war group, or hunting pack, it will most likely do us little or no good. We should not complicate the plan or waste man-hours trying to decipher an obsolete system."

"As Pharaoh commands," the pair repeated, and then we strode out to rejoin the rest of the group. I waved aside salutes and gestures of respect from armored figures carrying heavy crates from the captured merchantman to the _Duat_. At the end of the hallway, a comparatively slender man stood in a white uniform with black trim, with a gold emblem on his shoulder.

"Captain Markham," I stated in greeting.

"Mr. Emrys," he replied, and then paused as a rumble of disapproval rumbled through the Arrows in immediate earshot. But if the man was intimidated by the half-dozen or so glares shot his direction, he did not show it. He did, however, slowly cast his gaze back at me.

"Pharaoh _,_ " he corrected himself, his heels clicking together in a military salute. The giving of my title was, as always, carefully even and respectful. "If I may impose upon your time, there is someone who wishes to speak to you in the Communications Hub."

"Oh?" I asked.

"From Earth, sir."

 _Ahhh… finally_.

"Lead on, then," I nodded, gesturing forward. We moved slowly through the merchantman, stepping over the bodies of its former crew. Passing through the narrow hatchway took us back into the _Duat_ 's entryway, where the converted Turian Q-ship had docked with the unsuspecting _Strontium Mule_. The Earther crewmembers snapped to their feet as their captain passed, giving carefully-measured salutes that would have done a Turian field-marshal proud.

I felt myself nodding in silent approval of the discipline that Markham had been able to maintain amongst his own crew. My people, or at least most of them, followed me out of a sense of worship or awe. His crew seemed to genuinely follow their captain as if they were on the deck of an Alliance flagship, rather than members of a glorified pirate vessel.

The Communications Hub was a separate room that could be closed off from the rest of the ship, in order to give absolute privacy to the ship's conversations. The integrated quantum entangler was the one piece of modern technology that had been retrofitted into the older ship's designs, making it impossible for any eavesdropper into our conversations to trace our exact location in space. The entangler engaged with a loud humming noise as Captain Markham stood courteously by the door, and then exited as the lights in the room dimmed, closing the door behind him.

The holographic projector buzzed to life, slowly bringing the figure of a well-dressed man seated in a chair, smoking a cigarette. The eyes, however, were the most striking thing about him: they glistened and gleamed a bright blue, visible even in the low-res of the holo-call.

 _Prosthetic implants_ , my mind told me, even as my mind tried to put together who this could possibly be.

"Mr. Emrys," the man said, giving me a polite nod in greeting. "I felt that it was past time that the two of us had a conversation, face-to-face… so to speak."

"You have me at a disadvantage, sir," I answered, trying my best to look nonchalant. "Forgive the bluntness of the question but… who are you?"

"You would know me as the Illusive Man," the figure answered, and memory filled the rest of the blanks.

"You're the leader of Cerberus," I stated, my mind racing as to why someone so high up the chain of command could be contacting me directly. The entire time since we'd arrived on Tortuga, I'd been dealing with third-party intermediaries or low-level flunkies.

"Cerberus is an idea, Mr. Emrys," the Illusive Man said with a draw of the cigarette he held. "It is a belief, a conviction, and a goal. Far beyond the scope of any one man's leadership or ambitions."

"The orders we've been carrying out have been unambiguous enough," I grinned. "Doesn't strike me as the result of committee discussions."

"Your contract work has brought your… _organization_ to the attention of many in Cerberus," the Illusive Man replied, carefully _not_ answering my statement and _not_ calling my group a weird proto-Egyptian cult.

"I have good people around me," I shrugged. "And your Captain Markham has also proven equally skilled."

"No doubt," the man nodded. "I have a business proposition for you, Mr. Emrys; an extension of your current contract, if you will."

"I'm listening," I said cautiously.

"Are you familiar with the Haskins System?"

I paused for a moment, trying to determine where I had heard the name before.

"The Titan Nebula," I nodded finally. "That's on the very edge of the galaxy. Cessa the Blade's territory."

"There is a Hahne-Kadar R&D facility located on the planet Capek that the corporation was forced to evacuate with the breakout of the Blood Pack War."

A picture of some kind of aerial photograph of the compound, along with a text file, appeared on a holographic screen between us. I studied it for a moment, and raised an eyebrow in curiosity.

"And you'd like us to…?"

"According to our intelligence assets, the facility has not been occupied by any other parties or groups in the region," he explained. "We would like for the _Duat_ to take your party there and ensure that that particular situation continues."

"You want to secure a… mech fabrication facility?" I asked. "For what purpose?"

"Captain Markham will be ferrying several mechanics and technical experts to the facility over the next several months," the Illusive Man explained. "We'd like your unit to provide security and garrison duties."

"With respect… sir," I replied, "Why us? Why trust this operation to a gang of… ex-Omega pirates?"

The Illusive Man took another long drag at the cigarette, a puff of smoke surrounding his face before he answered.

"We both know what you're building is far greater in scope than that… _Pharaoh_."

When I made no reply, he continued. "You are a man of vision, Emrys. Cerberus can always utilize individuals with initiative and dedication. You are a man who inspires loyalty and devotion. In the six months you have been attached to the _Duat_ , you have increased your followers from sixteen to eighty-seven. Quite the accomplishment, considering you're in the middle of a Terminus warzone."

"I am fighting to protect my own kind," I heard my voice hiss bitterly before I could stop myself. "In a sector of the galaxy where we are viewed and preyed upon as only chattel, or worse."

"And _that_ ," the Illusive Man stated, with a grim determination on his face, "is _exactly_ why Cerberus exists. Men like you and I, Mr. Emrys, can see the writing on the wall: that the only hope for peace and security for humanity is to ensure that the rest of the galaxy respects us. And true respect, as we both know, is born of _fear_."

I nodded slowly, my mind racing as I processed his offer and his words. Respect born of fear was a way of life to anyone born on Omega. Those who did not command the respect of others found themselves under their bootheels. As for the compound, it was small enough, and Capek was insignificant enough, that such a plan could go without detection. And such a compound would be _perfect_ to train the new recruits into something more closely resembling _soldiers_ than pirates.

"If my men are to provide the security for a secret facility in the middle of a warlord's like Cessa the Blade's territory," I said at last, "Then _I_ will need to hold the final word of command in the station. Unequivocally, and beyond contestation."

Another long pull on the cigarette.

"Done."

 _Now time to see how far this… Illusive Man trusts me._

"And I will need to be read into whatever project will be taking place at the compound," I continued. "If I am to protect your technicians and their project, I need to know exactly what I'm dealing with."

Now a ghost of a smile broke across the Illusive Man's face, and with a flick of a finger, the cigarette ash wafted to the ground, and more images and text appeared between us. The primary illustration resembled a basic HK- _LOKI_ mech, only with _a shitload_ of armored plating added, along with a massive rifle integrated into the right arm.

"This, Mr. Emrys," the Illusive Man explained, "is Project Rampart."

* * *

 **Broken Vessel**  
 _(Laila Adonis)_

 **Date: 7/12/2185  
** **Location: The Arena, The Deeps, Omega**

"I still think you should wait, Waz."

Wasilla gave me a sidelong glance as she walked back and forth across her room, assembling her armor and weapons.

"And _I_ still think you're a mother _vex-_ cat, trying to take care of all her little kittens," she smiled, swapping out the long barrel of her rifle for a shorter one. "We've all got to leave the den sometime, Laila."

" _I am NOT…_ " I began but paused as I heard my voice going shrill. I took a moment to collect my thoughts and center my emotions. "I just think a long patrol like this will be hard on you. Milosa said…"

"Milosa couldn't patch her way out of a goddess-damned papercut," Wasilla hissed. "And if she wasn't a useful way to feed misinformation and half-truths to her superiors in the Talons, Khen would have had her replaced with a _real_ doctor long ago."

"That doesn't mean she's _wrong_ ," I hissed right back. "The _stupidest_ maiden on Thessia could tell you what happens when you expend that much biotic energy."

"And it's been _months_ of rest with practically no biotics at all," Wasilla replied, changing her tone as easily as some people change their shoes.

" _Months_ with occasional blackouts and out-of-the-blue hallucinations."

"Hey," Waz stabbed a finger in my direction. "It's been _weeks_ since any of that shit happened. _Weeks_."

"I just think you need to take it easy," I tried in a more gentle tone.

"I'm the only one around here who _'s_ capable of doing so," she snorted.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I demanded, flaring my mandibles wide.

"Oh please," Waz sighed, shrugging out of a shirt, "Khentu goes back and forth from avoiding responsibility entirely and shouldering _all_ of it at once. You react by trying to _take_ all the workload from his shoulders. Then he reacts by going out and getting _more_ work to do, and so the vicious cycle of stress and overwork continues."

"Fine, I'll give you more to do," I grinned, earning a mock glare from my asari… _lover?_ Partner? Friend with benefits?" All these months, and I _still_ couldn't categorize our relationship.

"Not even _remotely_ what I meant," Waz grinned back. "Come on, Laila, I'm going crazy just wandering around this giant cast-iron circus. I'm a sniper, for Goddess' sake. I need to get out there in the action, or whatever passes for action this far down Omega."

"If this is about what Khen said the other day…" I began.

"Lover," Waz cut me off, "You and Khen are both wonderful idiots of people. If I got mad anytime you did something stupid or Khen said something stupid, I'd've offed myself weeks ago. No, my job here is to remind you that 'no' is a perfectly good answer, especially to yourselves and each other."

"Isn't it usually one of _us_ telling her 'No,' most evenings?"

The two of us turned to give unamused glances at the male standing in the doorway. Khentu's smile slowly faded, and a more serious look came over his face.

"Laila does have a point, Waz. The medical center said…"

"Not to overdo my biotics, yes," nodded Wasilla. "And I don't intend to."

"Since when have your intentions _ever_ affected your actions?"

That earned him a jab in the gut that left him wheezing as the air exited his lungs. Chuckling, I leaned forward and tossed the small device onto the desk.

"Just…wear the biotic suppressor, OK Waz?" I asked. "That will keep you from instinctively reacting to something and then frying your brain."

Waz looked down at the device, back up at me, and then down at the still-winded Khen.

" _Ugh_ , fine."

She reached over and puts it on the thin band of metal around her neck, the suppressant band gleaming blue as it activated.

"There, you happy?"

I reached out and wrapped a hand around her waist, pulling her close with a purr of my sub-harmonics.

"More than I've ever been," I said gently. "Or at least, as happy as I _can_ be with all of us being quasi-prisoners down here."

"Hey, the _Fury_ should be back from drydock next week," Waz smiled. "Then you can hop on to go on a pleasure cruise to anywhere you want to go."

"Others may, I may not," Khentu groaned, getting back to his feet, "Aria gave me the Deeps to run. She would probably take it _very_ personally if I left them to someone else."

"You see?" Waz rolled her eyes, along with her shoulder, "This is exactly what I'm talking about."

"What do you mean?"

"I _mean_ that the two of you are only happy when you're overworked, overcommitted, and sleep-deprived to the point of passing out on your feet. _Delegate_ , for the love of the goddess."

"I _do_ delegate!" Khen objected. "For Ra's sake, you know me: I try to pawn off as much of this shit on other people as I can!"

"Then why haven't you made Muerta a full captain yet? She's capable and uses her head for something other than a helmet rest."

"Because she's…"

"Put her in charge of the training regimen, and have her _report to you_. You're the goddess-damned Lord, stop micromanaging the small shit."

"But…" I began, but she merely held up a hand.

"Now I'm leading this patrol so JJ can finally get some rest and relaxation and for the Goddess' sake, maybe unwind long enough to get _laid_ ," she continued, "So don't you dare give him any of the shit I usually take care of. Ignatius and those newly-arrived priests have the kitchens and the school well in hand. Anything else comes up, Osman is stumbling over his dick with his massive crush on Khentu, utilize his incredible need to please."

"I'm not gonna… I'm sorry, his crush on _who_?" Khentu asked, trying to keep up.

" _Please_ , nobody is that oblivious," Waz rolled her eyes.

"Remember who we're talking about," I chuckled. "Trust me, he has _no clue_."

"My _point_ is that we've good people down here," Wasilla said, putting on her shoulder piece to complete her suit of light armor. "Use them."

"You're _one_ of those good people," Khentu replied. "And there are a dozen folk I could assign patrol duty."

"I refer you to the 'I WILL go crazy if I don't get out of here' portion of our conversation," she chuckled, picking her helmet and tucking it under her arm.

"But what if…"

Wasilla cut Khentu off by reaching out a hand and pulling him into a kiss. Then she reached out a hand to me. I sighed, but pushed off the wall and walked forward to take the offered hand.

 _Embrace Eternity_.

Like a warm blanket wrapped around our shoulders, we slid into our customary meld. It wasn't a deep meld, apparently; Waz had said that was too difficult for her to do with two non-asari. But it was enough that the emotions of the three of us flowed from one to another, unfiltered and unashamed.

 _Kindness._

 _Caring._

 _Concern._

 _Thankfulness._

The sorrow of friends lost and the joy of loved ones held close mixed together in the cacophony of emotions and feelings that each of these sessions brought up. To be honest, there were many nights that nobody even had _sex_. We would just sit here, the three of us, holding each other close, basking in each other's emotions and thanking whatever deities or afterlife each of us believed in that we still had each other, after losing so many and so much.

There were tears in each of our eyes as Waz ended the meld and brought us back to the real world, slowly and deliberately. Whether they were tears of joy or sorrow, we could not say. Perhaps both.

"There," Waz said, a hand quickly dabbing at the corner of her own eyes. " _That_ should be enough to tide you two over until I come back."

"Wasilla…"

"It's just three shifts, Laila," she said, laying a finger on my forehead. "I'll be back before you know it. What could possibly go wrong?"

* * *

 **Interlude**

 **Location: Kima Lower Lift, Kima District, Omega**

Maya B'Theran, leader of the Maw's Wrath, looked left and right, overseeing the construction of the makeshift elevator platform. This lift had been inoperable for _centuries_ , probably since the days of Patriarch. However, slowly but surely, the Maw's Wrath had made slow progress, clearing away the rubble, replacing the broken gearwork, and most difficult of all, constructing the massive platform that would support their descent into the Deeps.

"I still say this is a _karking_ waste of time, Maya."

Maya glared at the batarian speaking, but Karan ul Wassitok was one of the few Maws who didn't wilt under her eyes. But then again, that probably was because they'd been bondmates for the past decade.

"The True Sons were wiped out wholesale," she sighed, raising a hand to massage her temple. "Those Doru _bekwa_ came down like they owned the place and ripped them apart. _Burned_ them out their little compound like _pyjaks_ in a burrow.

""They were all idiotic assholes anyway," Karan shrugged, "Are we really shedding tears for those _chenethic_ bastards? Who cares?"

"I care, you miserable excuse for a _sand-monkey_ ," Maya retorted. "Because I'm looking to the future. They were wiped out because two large Upper gangs woke up one morning and decided that they shouldn't keep breathing anymore. They struck without warning, without mercy, and without remorse."

Maya turned and looked eyes with her bondmate.

"So what, dear Karan, is to stop them from deciding that the Maw's Wrath is next? Who's to say who will be next on their list?"

"So we're _running?_ " the warrior-caste batarian hissed through his teeth. "Burrowing in the sand and _hoping_ the rest of the station passes us by?"

"Our only hope," Maya continued, ignoring the question entirely, "is to make ourselves indispensable to Aria. And the only operation of real value south of Cala is the Deep Docks. We take the Docks, we have it all: a dock for shipping, a foundry for income, and a direct line to Aria."

"But the Legends," Karan replied, squinting his lower set of eyes, "Aria gave them the Deeps _personally_. If we…"

"Aria doesn't give a shit about anyone down there," Maya cut him off. "If she did, she wouldn't have _sent them down there_. As long as she gets her cut and the shipments keep moving, she couldn't care _less_ about who is physically manning what districts this far down."

"Boss?"

Maya raised the Omni-Tool.

"Go ahead, Milo."

"Ma'am, Group 1 has reached the bottom. They say there's a _Pillars_ -ton of rubble to clear, but they've established that there _is_ a route to the main Docks from the lift's end."

"Excellent," the asari purred. "Hold position and wait for us there."

She turned back to her bondmate, whose face was still serious and contemplative.

"Gather the men," she said slowly, and her expression hardened into a predatory grin. "We're going hunting."

* * *

 **Author's Note:  
** **Now we begin to see that not even the Deeps is a "safe" place on Omega.**

 **And we get a look at what Tol and the Arrows have been up to for these several months.**

 **I'm excited as we begin to move into the next section of the story, and with the help of Katkiller-V, whose world and beta-reading skills I'm shamelessly taking advantage of, I hope to be finishing up the exciting conclusion of this story soon. **

**As always, your thoughts/ suggestions/ constructive criticisms are welcome in the reviews below or in my PMs, even if it's only as simple as "Good chapter, I liked it." I really appreciate anytime a reader takes the time to leave a review!**

 **ROCK ON, my friends!**

 **-Tusken1602**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

Arctech- This is Omega, my friend: There's always plenty of action around the corner, and it's coming to the Deeps VERY soon.

BJ Hanssen - Katkiller-V makes references to "the salarians' new Ark-ship" in a few of his works, but Andromeda is not mentioned by name. Plus, I'm basically denying that the train-wreck of a game ever happened in the first place. ;)

Ty13rwhy - Thanks very much, my friend!

seabo76 - Krogan always make any society more interesting. More bloody and gratuitously violent, yes, but also more interesting.

EE-RAH!


	26. Act 5: Maw Attack

**Omega's Child**  
 **(Khentu Emrys)**

 **Date: 7/14/2185**  
 **Location: The Arena, the Deep District, Omega**

The first inkling I had that anything was wrong was the ripple of sporadic gunfire, a sound that I'd once learned to tune out suddenly out of place in the background of the Deeps.

Laila and I had stopped by Ignatius' new school, mostly to introduce myself to the two freshly arrived priests from Earth in the hopes of convincing them that I wasn't the Terminus cannibal that Alliance News had led them to believe all of us were. August Miller and Owen Gonzalez, to their credit, seemed to be taking well to living in the middle of an Omega gang. When gunfire erupted right outside, Miller went the floor and Gonzalez shifted right to put himself between the children and whatever was going on out there. My pistol was in my hand as I moved towards the window, trying to figure out where exactly it was coming from.

"What the gods' names is…" My question was interrupted by the brilliant blue explosion and the smell of ozone that let me know that someone had flash-stepped through the window. There was an incredible ringing in my ears, and all the breath left my body in _huff_ as I hit the far wall, and then the floor.

As my eyes refocused and the ringing subsided, I was acutely aware of someone's boot on my chest, and a gun in my face. Flicking my eyes around, I saw eight well-armored figures in the room, covering the others. Ignatius' eye was swollen shut where it looked like someone had struck him with a rifle butt, and Laila was cradling an obviously bleeding arm, with another bullet hole clean through her shoulder. Fortunately, no one was dead or otherwise seriously wounded.

The newcomers wore brown and yellow armor, with a golden emblem on their shoulders of what looked like some sort of dragon swallowing a sword. I had no idea who the fuck they were, or how they'd gotten here, but the fact that we were being kept as hostages instead of corpses was good. It meant we had time.

The slender figure atop me, and the only non-Batarian in the room, if the cross-visored helmets were any indication, reached up a hand and raised the drop-visor on her welding-style helmet. She was an Asari, and a long scar ran across her obviously-cybernetic left eye.

"You Khentu Emrys?" She asked, her voice a bit rough, with no real accent I could place.

"Fuck you." I grunted back.

"It's him," one of the Batarians in the corner chuckled.

"My name is Maya B'Theran," the Asari continued, now removing her helmet completely to stare at me. "I'm the leader of the Maw's Wrath."

"And I don't give a shit," I retorted.

"By now," She went right on, talking as if she hadn't heard me, "I have three teams securing your Docks and the Main Lifts. You _will_ take us to your Comm station. You WILL order the rest of your people to stand down, in order to avoid any unpleasantries. Do this, and I promise your people will be safe, and you will live."

I couldn't help but snort. "Bullshit."

The face above me arched an eyebrow in confusion.

"You've made three mistakes, Asari."

She slowly bent to press the cold barrel of her pistol against the center of my forehead.

"Do tell," she smiled dangerously. I heard Laila take in a sharp hiss of breath, no doubt warning me against doing something incredibly stupid.

Which of course I ignored.

"One," I started slowly, raising a middle finger to begin the count, "you know you can't afford to leave me alive, and I know it. So telling me that you plan on leaving me alive tells me that I can't trust anything _else_ that tumbles out of your mouth."

"Smart monkey," rumbled the Batarian in the corner again, earning him a sharp glare from… _Maya_ , or whatever she said her name was.

"Two," I continued, "you assumed that any of my people down here would obey anything as stupid as an order to surrender to strangers they don't know and have no reason to trust, you stupid whoring _thundercunt_."

Maya B'Theran lifted a hand, and the flickers of warpfire began to curl around her fingers as she continued to smile at me with the grin of a pleased _sable-_ cat.

"And third?" she purred softly, "please, enlighten me."

"You _stupid_ fuckers pointed a gun within a thousand meters of that Krogan baby in the corner."

For the first time since she had put me back on my ass, a look of blank confusion crossed the face of the Asari leader of the Maw's Wrath as she glanced up at the young toddler in question.

"Wha…?"

The Wall to our left _disintegrated_ as The Bloody One entered and the three Maws closest to the Krogan babe dissolved in chunks of bloody confetti.

" _Fucking Goddess!"_ B'Theran had just enough time to snarl and throw up a barrier as the mech opened fire with its arm-mounted cannon. The force of the gunfire physically pushed her backwards off of me. That might have been comforting, except then I saw Blood's other arm shift up, grenade launcher at the ready.

Which spelled death for _everyone_ on that side of the room, not just the Maws.

"Oh _shit_!" I shouted, lurching up to grab the closest dumb-founded Batarian in the brown-and-yellow armor, hurling him between me and the orb of blue energy that surrounded his leader. The explosion that followed hurled both of us against the wall. When we hit the floor, I scrambled for the pistol on his hip, but when I pulled it free, I noticed the neat hole a piece of shrapnel had sent through his visor and into the unsuspecting bastard's brain.

Blood, on the other hand, merely moved through the newest hole it had created in the wall, hurling itself after the Asari bitch, who had been blown _out_ said hole in the explosion. That gave me another moment to look around at the room.

Ignatius and Osman had both managed to overpower their two guards, who lay sprawled on the floor, groaning. Laila was pulling her dagger from where she had stabbed it into the groin of the Maw that had been standing over her. Almost casually, and holding her right arm against her body, she collected his rifle and sent a round into the groaning, retching figure writhing in agony.

"Anybody got comms?" I asked after replacing my helmet and getting only static. There was a moment as each person tried their own helmet's or Omni-Tool's communicators, but they only shook their heads in answer.

"They're jamming us somehow," Laila hissed.

"Barnabas, you and Adrian run to the Comm and raise the alarm," I snapped, stooping to gather my own gun from where I had dropped it when I had gotten thrown backwards. "Get Jehu and the others on the upper level guns and have Bacro send runners for the general recall for the patrols."

"Lord," the young turian and Batarian boy nodded and then they were out the door in a flash.

"Oz, escort Miller and Gonzalez as they take the rest of the kids to the food cellars," I continued. "You get them in the storerooms, lock the doors. As long as you have air, you don't come out. Not until you get the all clear from me."

Osman said nothing in reply, but nodded once and got moving.

"What's the plan?" Laila asked, as the rest of the room's occupants fell in beside me.

"We secure the Arena first," I nodded. "Then we move out to recapture the Docks, if there was a grain of truth in what the bitch was gloating. Ignatius, you have these guys?"

Ignatius moved to secure the hands and feet of the two survivors in the room.

"I got these," he grunted. "Go."

I nodded, and Benji opened the door, and we moved out, fanning out to cover one another.

Chaos and screams filled the Promenade, along with the sporadic thunder of gunfire. The Maws had clearly expected for the residents of the Deeps to behave like any ordinary citizens of Omega: to duck and cover, waiting for the firefight to pass them by and discover who were their latest overlords.

They were very, very wrong. These were _pissed_ off folk, driven from every home they had ever had to wind up down here. And they would be damned to whatever afterlife they believed in before they would let any "Uppers" take it away from them.

Thus, here and there, a swarm of civilians could be seen piled onto the foreign gunmen, stabbing, bludgeoning, and clubbing savagely until the prone figures stopped moving. But the multiple bodies scattered around the Arena showed how heavy the price had been.

I lifted both pistols and sent rounds into the back of a Maw who was trying desperately to clear a field of fire in front of him. Both shots went right through the plate on his back, and he crumpled.

"Looks like the fuckers who hit us up there had the best armor," Laila scoffed, taking down another brown-and-yellow figure coming around the corner.

"Looks like," I nodded. "Keep your eyes out for…"

Another wall in front of us… _dissolved_ , I suppose was the best word for it, and Maya B'Theran rolled as she bounced off the ground, biotic barrier enshrouding her form. She actually _ignored_ the shots we began to send her direction, keeping her focus entirely on the jaw-droppingly huge battle mech that still braced less than a hundred yards away. Blue blood was flowing freely from her nose and beginning to drip from the corners of her eyes, by the looks of things. Screaming defiance, she began to charge forward, flashing warp-fire from the palms of her hands like tiny needles. Blood merely shifted the massive spiked shield from his back to his arm and began firing his arm-mounted cannon.

"Spirits," I heard Laila mutter in awe as the Legends nearby slowly stopped firing, watching the two figures engaging in a ridiculous display of firepower vs. biotics. Whoever this bitch was, her biotics were _way_ above anything I had ever seen. Blood sidestepped a biotic warp with a dexterity that no mech its size had any right to, and swung the shield like the Gates of Hell, batting the comparatively tiny figure in front of it like a bug, and then engaging the rocket boosters in its feet after her.

"After them!" I called out. "Don't let them out of your sight!"

Not because I felt Blood necessarily _needed_ in backup, but more because I was concerned the berserker mech would demolish most of the Arena before the damn thing stopped. After _months_ of careful, meticulous repression and control, the Murder Mech of the Deeps had finally been given an outlet for his homicidal sub-routines. The fact that that target was an _Asari_ , a race for whom the mech had a wanton racist _hatred_ , was just icing on the cake _._

And that cake was apparently made of destruction and mayhem. At every corner we fought our way around, there were always two or three other Legends who had jumped into a storeroom or one of the market stalls, tying down the half-dozen Maws who were apparently supposed to secure those areas. I paused to listen to the _ratta-tat, ratta-tat_ rhythm of the bunkers on the highest levels opening fire, and I could see the tracer rounds streaking out in the direction of the Docks.

 **"This is ul Cokat. Pillars damn it, can anyone hear me?!'**

"This is Emrys," I spoke up, breathing a prayer of thanks to whatever spirit or god that had decided to be our friend. "What's your status?"

 **"Killed some _chenethta_ that was trying to set up a jamming relay," **Jehu's voice answered. **"I don't know what desert these bastards came from, but there seems to be an awful lot of them between us and the Docks."**

"Are there any signs of a firefight still going on at the Docks?" I asked, thinking of Chell and her squad, and hoping they hadn't been caught with their pants down like _I_ just had.

 **"Affirmative, Lord,"** came the answered. **"The poor bastards seem to be trapped between us and whoever it is that's making a… _Sacred Pillars_."**

At that moment, a _MUCH_ more powerful series of shots, these sounding like massive _thumps_ , could be heard above the din all around us.

"Jehu, what the _fuck is that?_ " I half-yelled into the comms.

 **"It's the _Fury!_ "**

I blinked slowly, unable to believe what I was hearing.

"Say again?"

 **"I mean the Pillars-blessed _Fury_ is coming into the Docks, guns blazing. Those bastards are running for their lives!"**

The _Fury?_ They weren't supposed to be here for another week, but I wasn't going to waste any time complaining about it.

"Follow me!" I called out to those closest to me. "Push for the Docks!"

From what I could see and understand, we had the bulk of the Maw's Wrath trapped in the open, in the wide service road between the Deep Docks and the Arena proper. As much as I wanted to secure the Arena first, this was an opportunity that we couldn't pass up.

When we got to the Dock Gate of the Arena however, I saw that the Maws who were left had realized the same thing, and were running pell-mell for the Arena; their only hope of avoiding the _Fury's_ swivel guns.

 _Amun-Ra, if those are the_ small _weapons on that beast, what the hells would those giant cannons do_? I asked myself, seeing one of the ship's weapons blow a group of Maws level-high, one of them still screaming until the moment he hit the ground.

"Fan out!" I called, motioning furiously left and right. "Pick your targets, center mass!"

In the next few minutes, another major flaw in the Maw's plan to take over the Deeps revealed itself: they apparently had expected for someone this far down Omega to be equally- or worse-equipped as themselves, with second-hand shield generators covering cheap plate and re-worked welding helmets. Our new SBC-made carbines went through most of their protection like it wasn't even there... by the gods, in a few occasions the shots actually went through one person to kill the fucker _behind_ them as well.

 _That was certainly worth the trade_ , I grinned as another of my shots went through a turian's head. _Certainly, they seem to be saving our asses right n…_

"Get down!"

Something hit me hard from the side, knocking me clear of a rocket that I had never even _seen_ streaking towards me. Muerta clutched a shotgun in her cybernetic arm, and her right arm was… _Glowing?_ I looked around to see that we were beneath a biotic barrier that withstood the shots that peppered its surface. Tackling me clear of the rocket had also exposed us to the small-arms fire of the incoming Maws.

"Anytime you want to move…" came the Quarian's voice from her helmet, and it sounded strained and thin. I rolled to my feet, and the two of us moved towards an undamaged pillar, where she finally dropped the barrier.

"I didn't know you were a biotic!" I marveled, " _Hells_ , I didn't even know quarians _could be_ …"

"Not the time!" she hissed, pulling a launcher from the small of her back and fitting a grenade into the weapon. "Shoot now, talk later!"

By now, the Maws were close enough that we could hear the frantic shouts and orders being given by what officers or leaders that remained.

"TO the DEATH!" I heard a Batarian roar. "KILL THE _KARKING…_ "

Then a glowing line of super-charged nanofilament thread from one of our _Cutter_ rifles cut off both his sentence and his head.

The problem with the Nakmor Krogan who had joined us wasn't that they had scoffed at our improvised weapons: it was that they had LOVED them. They had taken the weapons' most brutal characteristics and put their own Tuchanka-style spin on it.

The result was somewhere between 'sickening' and 'bloody terrifying.' Nakmor Syed leapt over a concrete pylon, raising one fist to fire his wrist-mounted crossbow. The half-meter-long, solid-steel _bolt_ went completely through one Maw and pinned another to the ground as the Nakmor battlemaster chuckled in sheer glee beneath his helmet.

"Fall back!" came the yell from another Maw trying to regain some sort of control over this rout, but that only made him a target for Chell's javelin that she hurled with speed, skill, and precision. A good dozen more Maws died horrible and painful deaths before weapons began falling, hands began raising, and knees were bending as gang members in brown-and-yellow began begging and blubbering for their lives. As suddenly as it had begun, the sounds of gunfire and combat around the Patriarch's Grand Arena ceased.

"REGROUP!" I called out, stepping out slowly, keeping both of my pistols trained on our newest prisoners, in case somebody felt like being a hero today.

"Muerta," I called, and the suddenly-biotic quarian turned towards me. "Get these prisoners secured. Laila, get that arm patched up. Ben, you get a squad together and make a full sweep of the Markets and Promenade; Horatius, make sure these _fuckers_ aren't hiding concealed weapons anywhere."

As the Legends around me scrambled to obey, I sighed deeply and allowed myself to take in the carnage all around me.

 _What the FUCK just happened?_

* * *

 **Bereft Mother**  
 **(Nakmor Chell)**

 **Location: Grand Arena, Deeps District, Omega**

"Ancestors have mercy."

I felt the prayer escape me in a breathless whisper as I neared the… I could only describe it as a _crater_ in the center of the Training Field. In the same location where Patriarch had watched the condemned fight to the death for his own amusement, the Bloody One had made his final confrontation with the Asari leader of the Maw's Wrath.

The battle had been, from the fragmented bits we could gather from the few spectators who had witnessed it, a spectacular display of brilliantly white-blue biotics versus massive firepower, coupled with brute strength. There were bits of gearwork, machinery, and melted armor littering the training ground. Khentu stepped over what looked like had been part of The Bloody One's shoulder armor to stand at the edge of the crater.

Maya B'Theran stood motionless against one of the concrete barriers that were now strewn haphazardly across the ground. The expression on her face was surprise and confusion as she stared the stump of The Bloody One's right arm that pinned her in place, like an insect in a collection. It was as if she couldn't comprehend how the twisted hulk of metal and wiring in front of her had managed to _win_ this fight.

By the looks of things, that had been her dying thoughts as she had bled out onto the black sand. Her eyes were a dark blue where broken blood vessels had hemorrhaged blood, trying to compensate for overclocked biotics. Her arms likewise were scarred from where her own warpfire had burned her, her mental focus failing under the sheer strain of whatever she was trying to do.

I had only seen biotics on such a scale once before: on a holo that had been distributed from one side of the Terminus to the other, showing Aria T'Loak _wading_ through Ganar Yulaz's berserkers on her way to reclaim her station.

No, twice before: when Waz had done… whatever she had done to stop the Lift from crashing and killing us all.

Khentu only gave the dead Asari a cursory glance before making his way to stand next to the pile of broken machinery that was all that was left of The Bloody One. The left leg was completely gone, and the right was twisted beyond use, and probably beyond repair. Firing its right arm _at_ the Asari leader had been, by the looks of things, the _very_ last weapon in its considerable arsenal. The mech's heart had been torn open by warpfire, sparks and fluids dripping in equal measure, and even I could tell that its systems were failing rapidly.

"Bloody One?" Khentu asked, and there was a tenderness in his voice, as if he was approaching a wounded animal. Which I suppose was apt, given the circumstances. "Are you… still here?"

There was an ear-splitting whine as feedback looped and a harsh voice grated in Old Krogan: " **Is she dead?"**

"Yes," Khentu replied in the same language.

 **"So it has always been,"** came the reply, and the voice seemed almost _mournful_. **" _Never_ have I met an enemy worthy of ending my life... that one was the closest... unfortunate."**

There was a harsh grate of metal-on-metal, and the hulk slowly turned, as if look up at the human.

 **"I am old, Khentu Emrys,"** The Bloody One continued. **"I was made for war, and in war I have served, warlord after warlord… Emperor after Emperor. Credak, Moro…Shiagur… Yulaz. All dead now. All gone… gone with the dying stars."**

Khentu and I shot a look at one another. This was the most words we had _ever_ heard the giant machine speak in the entire time that it had been with our company.

 **"Nakmor Chell,"** it rumbled on, **"The Heir is safe?"**

"Safe, ancient One," I nodded, giving the hulking machine the title usually reserved for clan shamans or elders. "Thanks to you, and your efforts."

 **"I have fulfilled the final command of My Emperor?"**

Khentu raised an eyebrow in question, but I nodded in reassurance, pretty sure I knew where this was going. I reached out a hand and placed it gently on the ruined chassis.

"You have, Ancient One," I nodded again. "You have fulfilled your orders and fought with valor."

 **"Then I have but one more request to make of you, Lord of Legends."**

"Name it," Khentu replied immediately.

 **"Do not repair me,"** the battle-mech said. **"Let this be my final battle...my final victory. Let me pass on, to whatever fate awaits me."**

Khentu looked around at the wreckage around us, and then laid a hand of his own on the machine.

"So let it be done," he said slowly. "Go to your rest now, Bloody One; your name will live on in glory."

"I will make your name and your deeds known in the Empire that is to come," I added softly.

There was no answer, only a low _whir_ of machinery that built to a crescendo, and then tapered off in a whine.

So passed The Bloody One, perhaps _the_ oldest AI in the galaxy.

Behind us, there was a solid _thunk_ of steel-on-steel. We turned to see Syed and several other Nakmor Krogan, saluting the victorious dead with fist on breastplate. Khentu drew a deep sigh, and then clambered out of the large crater.

"Report," he said, his voice hardening.

"They lost sixty-eight dead, forty-nine wounded or prisoners," Syed answered.

"Our own losses?"

"Seventeen Legends killed, thirty-five wounded, fifteen of them grievously so."

"And the civilians?" Khentu asked.

Syed's brow-ridges furrowed.

"We are still making a full tally," he shrugged. "Perhaps as low as seventy, perhaps as high as two hundred, if you count the slaves that rose up to join us at the Docks. More dead than wounded for them, I'm pretty sure. No armor or shields, so... saw at least a dozen who'd bled out before anyone could even try and save the idiots. Might be quite a few who took the chance to run, though; be a shift or two before we get a proper count."

Khentu glanced over at the collared human behind my brother, who still held a _Cutter_ rifle, in defiance of the regulations against armed slaves in the Deeps.

"Matthews," he nodded, recognizing him as one of the main leaders in the slave community. " _Why?"_

The slave merely brought the weapon across his chest in a parade-ground salute.

"You've done right by us, Emrys," the man answered, "We couldn't just stand by and not do right by you. Capt. Roger Matthews, Zadith Ban Militia, reporting for duty, sir."

"His people fought well at the Docks even before they could secure weapons from the fallen," I rumbled in addition to his words, while smiling at the confirmation of his identity, and why ul Yesh had been so anxious to get rid of him and his comrades.

Khen nodded slowly, and the lifted his wrist to activate his Omni-Tool. With a click of a button, Matthew's collar made a loud _beep_ , and then fell to the ground as the magnetic locks deactivated.

"Captain, call your men into formation," Khentu ordered, "You're in the Legends now."

The man saluted again, and Khen walked past him back into the Arena's promenade. Row after row of Maws knelt, some of them with Med-packs none-too-gently applied to wounds. Khentu pointed, and one of the better-armored ones was dragged unceremoniously to the front.

"Name?" he asked curtly.

"Meshed ul Amaan, _Raddaq_ ," the Batarian nodded, head inclining so far to the left I thought he was going to pull a muscle.

"Alright, Mashed," Khentu acknowledged, "First question: Where did you lot come from?"

"Kima, my lord," came the answer. "We repaired and came down Lift 992."

Khentu shot a glance at the rest of us. That was the same fateful lift by which _we_ had first been deposited into the Deeps.

"Second question," he continued, "How did you get past our patrols?"

The Batarian looked away, pointedly _not_ making eye contact with the human standing over him. None of his comrades were either, each of them pointedly looking intently at the ground in front of them. Laila looked up, and her mandibles flared slightly in unspoken dread.

"You didn't sneak past them, did you?" Khentu asked at last.

The _barest_ of head-shakes was the only answer.

"We need to get to the Villa," Laila said quickly. "I'll get a patrol and…"

"You're wounded," I countered. "You should rest here, and get…"

"I'm _going_ ," the turian hissed, her face hardening. " _She_ 's out there, and I'm not going to…"

" _Laila_ ," Khentu cut her off, in a tone of voice we had not heard for a long time. It was the tone he used when all patience had run out, usually right before he started killing people. "Chell's right: Time is of the essence. If we have to rescue prisoners, your wounded shoulder will slow us down. _I KNOW_ ," he said before she could utter a protest. "I _know_ how you feel, but the best thing you can do for her is to take command here, and get that shoulder patched up."

Khentu then turned to me and Syed.

"Get me twenty warriors," he ordered crisply. "We're moving out."

* * *

 **Holy Warrior**  
 **(Father Ignatius)**

 **Location: The Villa, Deeps District, Omega**

Date: 7/15/2185

Khentu and the others ran up. The buildings in the Villa, or at least everything that _wasn't_ made of concrete or stone, were smoldering piles of charred timber. Rubble and debris were everywhere, but there was one thing copiously missing.

Syed came up alongside Khentu.

"Where are the bodies, Lord?" he asked, confused.

"I don't know, Syed," Khentu's voice was tense, and strained.

Muerta'Harell was using her metallic arm to poke at the smoking remnants of a hut.

"They couldn't have taken everyone," she said slowly. "There's no way they would have taken this place by surprise. Not somebody like Waz, anyway. Then why would they bother clearing away the bodies of the fallen Legends?"

"The quarian's right," Syed nodded. "Don't make any kind of sense…"

Chell and Osman ran up to the party.

"The armory has been ransacked, but it's as abandoned as the rest of the fort, _Emrys_."

"KHENTU!"

All of us whipped our heads towards the shout and we took off at a run. Drella had stopped at the edge of a precipice. She looked visibly blenched, while Hadasi was kneeling at her feet, retching horribly. The rest of us slowed to a walk. I think we knew in our gut what was at the bottom.

"God and saints have mercy," I said slowly, crossing myself at the sight.

The Legends patrol and the Villa's small garrison lay in long line, tossed into an abandoned access tunnel.

Khentu swallowed hard and made his way to the pile of bodies, followed by Chell. He turned the only Asari in the bunch over.

Waz's throat had all been slit, with an identical wound to the rest of the bodies; several different shades of blood had made the metal panels beneath our feet slick to the touch. But it was not the merciful, long, thin slash across the neck that one does to slaughter a sheep or ox. It was a ragged gash, torn from the neck downward to the center of the chest.

Chell turned to look back up at the rest of us.

"It was neither quick nor painless for them, Khentu."

Curses and low growls escaped from the group of Legends quickly forming around us. Khentu stood silently, his hand clenching and unclenching. Then a hand went up to the helmet.

"Laila."

 **"Did you find her?"** came the response over the radio, the words laced with a heartbreaking hope.

"Kill them all."

"Khentu…" I began.

" _KILL_ each and every one of those mother _fuckers_ ," Khentu hissed, "And tell Jesse to bring _everyone_ to the Villa."

"What's the plan?" Chell asked, and her tone was low and even as Khentu cut the line before Laila could ask anything else.

"They came down the shaft," Khentu replied. "We're going back up. And then we beat, burn, or put a bullet into EVERY last son of a bitch what wears a Maw's Wrath mark."

"Khen," I cut in, fighting the burning desire in my own heart to do _exactly that_ , "This is not the time for revenge. This is a time for mourning."

"That's where you're wrong, Father," Khentu answered, and his tone was dark, dangerous, and full of pain. "This is EXACTLY the time for revenge. If we do not, then this is only the first of many attacks to come. They have come against us, unprovoked, and wrought war and death upon MY PEOPLE. MY CLAN. And now I will go up and send a message to the rest of the station: The Legends of the Deep are NOT to be _fucked_ with."

"Blood-Right of Vengeance. _Sa_ , it is good, Lord Emrys." Syed rumbled appreciatively. "We will take the FULL blood-price for our hurt, our wounded, and our slain. It is the Terminus way."

Khentu slowly reached and drew his gun out of his holster. Then, just as slowly and deliberately, he replaced it, and turned back to me.

"Father…" he said, and the pain in his voice was redoubled. "Could you… would you mind...?"

"I will lay these souls to rest, my son," I replied quickly. However much I wanted to go with them and get whatever passed for justice for my friends and comrades that lay dead here, the Scriptures were clear on that account: _'Vengeance is Mine, I will repay, sayeth the Lord.'_

As they slowly moved away, a few of the Legends began turning over the bodies of our fallen. I reached behind my back and undid the well-worn pouch that held the symbol of my office. I draped the now-tattered _stole_ over my shoulders, and made the sign of the cross in the air. Only a few of these were human, and a fewer number of them were of my flock, but the same God Who made us all would keep their souls in His care. I made the sign once again, and began the prayer I had said all too often since I had first come to Omega:

 _Requiam aeternam dona eis, Domine,_

 _et lux perpetua luceat eis._

 _Requiescant in pace._

 _Amen._

 _Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord,_

 _and let perpetual light shine upon them._

 _May they rest in peace._

 _Amen._

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **"I fear all we have done is to awaken a sleeping giant and fill him with a terrible resolve." - Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto, after the success of the Pearl Harbor attacks.**

 **My thanks to Katkiller-V, for his beta-reading skills, and the use of his Mass Effect alternate universe. **

**As always, please leave your thoughts/suggestions/constructive criticisms in the reviews below, even if it's a simple "Good job, I enjoyed it."**

 **Rock on, my friends!**

 **-Tusken1602**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

BJ Hanssen - I will confess there were good moments, yes, but not enough of them to save the game, sadly. I'll have to check out the novel though, I haven't read it yet!

SomeDudeThatReads - Well put, my friend. Yeah, the Maw's entire plan was stupid, even before they ran into a shipful of krogan and the most homicidal mech in the galaxy.

Artech- Hope i didn't disappoint!

seabo76 - You called it. Welcome to Omega.

EE-RAH!


	27. Act 5: Going Back Up

**Assumed Stranger  
** **(Oran T'Loak)**

 **Date: 7/18/2185  
** **Location: Talon Central Command, Tuhi District, Omega**

"Red!"

I shoved two other Talons aside as I made my way into the command center. Kandros looked up from where she and a few other high-ranking officers were peering over some reports.

"I take it there's a good reason for you to come barging in here?" she asked frostily.

I tossed the datapad I had been holding to the other end of the table. "We just got word back from Milosa. Apparently, there's been some sort of attack on the Deeps."

The looks of annoyance on their faces gave way to a confused sort of pause before Nyreen asked, "Who in the spirit's names even managed to get down there?"

"The Maw's Wrath."

Nyreen's mandibles flared slightly in surprise. It wasn't without cause: The Maw's Wrath were a pretty sizable gang on Kima, mostly red sand and weapons smuggling. Not too big of a gang, but enough that we had left them alone in our purge of the True Sons... but they weren't exactly the kind of gang we'd have expected to be able to tunnel ther way down to the Legend's territory.

"What happened?" Nyreen demanded, a clawed hand seizing the pad and pulling it over to glance at.

"Somehow, they fixed the lift," I shrugged, "or at least vorcha-rigged _something_ enough them carry them down into the Deeps and got themselves killed trying to take the Arena and Docks. The Legends… were hit bad. Lost a lot of people. They..."

Nyreen gave me a piercing glare when my voice trailed off, and her voice lowered in irritation. "T'Loak. The Consortium and the SBC are one excuse away from turning upper Doru into a war zone, the Eclipse is openly cheering them on, no one has any idea as to what T'Ravt is up to in Gozu, and I'm expected to give Aria a report on all of that plus fifty other minor crisis in two hours. Get to the _point_."

I winced. "Wasilla M'taza was among those killed."

Nyreen's eyes went wide at the news of Emrys' significant other dying. "...shit."

"Throat was cut from behind." I added, "Probably by B'Tharan. She and that Krogan mech mutually killed one another during the fighting."

She turned slowly and began pacing back and forth in front of the table. "Emrys will be out for blood, even with her dead."

I nodded. That much would have been obvious, even without the second page of the report I'd handed her.

"Our Kima outposts report a massive firefight going on around the area of the Kima Lifts," I added. "The Legends are already counter-attacking."

Nyreen's expression went cold, and her fists clenched and unclenched.

"This is precisely what we _didn't_ want to happen," she hissed. "Emrys was the _perfect_ sort of ally."

"Red…"

"He was an unambitious, charismatic leader who was happy with his little slice of territory who I could _ignore._ "

"Red…"

"He just wanted to be left alone!"

"Kandros!"

All eyes snapped back to me in shock at my use of her _actual_ name. I stepped closer and gestured to the holo of the station floating in front of us.

"We know all of this," I said slowly. "What do you want to _do_ about it?"

Nyreen Kandros closed her mouth with a snap, and then tapped a few keys on the pad. The holo-table zoomed in to the Kima District, highlighting what territory we had taken from the True Sons in red.

"Aria won't stand for a major gang war, so our objective has to be containment. You and Dexidos well go down to Kima and take command," she said, and her voice was firm with decision. "Fortify our position there and do whatever you need to get in touch with Emrys. Reassure him that we are still allies in all of this, to ensure that he knows raiding Talon territory won't be solving any of his problems... and hint strongly that he'd best limit his ambitions."

"Do you think he'll really be that stupid?" I asked incredulously. Nyreen shot me a glance that managed to make me feel like a naïve maiden.

"Emrys is the best and worst of Omega," she answered. "But if I had to guess, that bitch B'Tharan just shoved his personality entirely into _one_ of those categories. If someone doesn't punch him in the forehead to get him back to his senses, the Lowers are going to be in flames before the week is out."

* * *

 **Omega's Child  
(Khentu Emrys)**

 **Date: 7/18/2185  
Location: Maw's Wrath Compound, Kima District, Omega**

"No prisoners!"

The shout went up as we pressed forward, and the few remaining Maws who had weapons took to their heels. They didn't make it very far before running into the flanking krogan. Syed raised his Cutter rifle and blasted a man cleanly in half.

"No Mercy!" he roared.

The retreating Maws were crowded into the narrow alleyway, trampling over one another in their attempt to escape the sure and sudden death behind them. With smooth fluid movements, I took a grenade from my belt, tossing another one to Syed, who chuckled deeply as we armed our projectiles and tossed them into the narrow corridor. With no room to escape, and only two directions for the blasts to go, the result was as bloody as it was final.

"This is the kind of battle that I like, Emrys," Syed grunted in satisfaction as other Legends moved in to finish off what few figures still writhed in agony. "Simple, uncomplicated, and easy."

I had to confess my agreement with him. After the Battle of Little Egypt, it was good to be on the other end of a successful invasion. From what we had seen, the Asari bitch had gutted her gang, taking the best fighters and equipment in her bid to take the Deeps.

I cursed her for the thousandth time at the stupidity of her plan: attacking the people that Aria had personally given control of the Deeps. If we had been indispensable, they would have brought the wrath of the Black Queen down on their heads, which no sane being on Omega wanted. And even if Aria hadn't given a single fuck, which even in the black clouds of my thoughts I knew was the more likely alternative, the only thing they would have achieved was proving that the Deep Docks and their scrap foundries were now basically fair game, and would have been taken out by the Talons, the Wave, or any of the other _much_ larger players on this station.

Three hundred people died because Maya B'Theran thought she could be the next Aria T'Loak or some shit. Among them the massive battlemech that was my leverage over the rest of the Legends, leaving my personal position far less secure, and yet another of the people that I had grown to love.

 _Wasilla._

I tried to recall the face she would make when we were making love, or when she was exasperated with me, or when she was sleeping beside me.

But the only face that came to my memory was the stunned, tortured expression she had when she was lying in a ditch, discarded like so much trash. And the asari responsible for it was already dead. Much as I would like to revive her and kill her again, I had thought destroying everything she had built up on Kima would have made the burning ache in my soul subside.

It had not. This was not a war. This was a massacre.

That's what Ignatius had said, when he had left to return to the Arena. But I hadn't cared. It was all I had left. Every time I pulled the trigger, I saw the face of someone else that I had lost:

 _Agrippa_.

 _Lydia._

 _Nobu._

 _Isola._

 _Abdul._

 _Father._

 _Ptolemy._

"Khentu?"

Laila's voice brought me back to the present, which was a red-lit room in what had been the headquarters, or what passed for one, for the Maw's Wrath. Around the table sat Chell, Syed, Jesse, Laila, and a few other Legends officers... And I had no idea how I had gotten here.

"Sorry," I sighed, "My mind…wandered. What was that?"

"Now that we have this part of Kima under our thumb, what do we do with it?" Chell said, apparently for the second time.

I glanced over at the salarian on the other end of the table.

"Barco," I nodded, "what exactly _have_ we got?"

He lifted his Omni-Tool in answer, and a small holo-image was projected to the middle of the table.

"The Maw's Wrath have _this_ compound, and a few square blocks in all directions," he explained. "From what I've been to grab from what few shitty records they keep on their computers, they don't actually _produce_ anything themselves for revenue. Not here, anyway. It's mostly residential blocks... or what passes for that this far down. It's mostly a shitpile, to put it mildly."

"Then where?" Jehu asked quizzically. "How did they afford to have half-decent weapons?"

"They apparently were the middle-men of a half-dozen schemes and operations on this side of Kima," Barco explained. "Providing protection to red-sand dealers, paying weapons smugglers in red-sand, paying slave traders in weapons, and providing slaves to help in the red-sand processing locations. I believe the human term is, 'Robbing Paul to pay Peter.'"

"Peter to pay Paul," I corrected absent-mindedly, but squinted at the information all the same. It made a few things make more sense. "That must have been why B'Theran was crazy enough to gamble that she could take our Docks and then try and hold them. This type of shitshow wasn't sustainable, in the long run: one piece of this trade-chain breaks, and you're in deep shit with _everyone_ around you pissed off at you."

"We're certainly not going to take over said shitshow, are we?" Jehu asked, and I saw his shoulders sag in relief when I shook my head.

"I vote we take everything remotely valuable back down to the Deeps, blow the Lift again, and place a guard at the bottom to make sure nobody uses it again," offered Muerta, the quarian biotic folding her arms and leaning back in her chair. "Back to business as usual."

The rumble of agreement from several others cut off when I spoke a single word, "No."

All eyes turned to focus on me.

"What do you mean?" Laila asked.

"Even if we destroyed that lift," I started, my hitherto-disorganized thoughts tumbling out in a torrent of words. "They'd use another one. Maybe tomorrow, maybe ten cycles from now, but sure as shit some motherfucker would get it into his or her head to raid the Deeps again. Why? Because the Maws proved that it, in theory, _could_ be done, barring the horribly-bad luck of facing a krogan warship and a krogan battle-mech with the galaxy's deadliest AI inside it, both at the same time."

This time the general rumble of agreement was more concerned, and aligned with me, though even in my less than stellar condition I noted that Muerta didn't chime in.

I sucked in a breath and resumed, my voice gaining strength and confidence, "It's not a combination we'll ever have again, and if whoever attacks us is smart, they'll wait until they know for sure that the _Fury_ is gone, and it probably won't be long until everyone knows that we lost the Bloody One. We can no longer hide down in the Deeps and pretend like we're a world unto ourselves. My father and my uncle made that mistake in Little Egypt, and they got blindsided by a galaxy that was larger than either of them ever dreamed."

Everyone took in my words, nodding at the sentiment even I hadn't known I had been stewing on for the past several shifts.

"So, what are our options?" asked Laila. "We keep this territory, and we're back in the same shit that we left in Doru. Only ten times worse, and with fewer allies."

"With Matthew's people freed, we have open spaces for work-crews in the Foundry and the Docks," I answered. "Put out a call on Fumi or Doru, and you'll have people pushing to get a place on lifts full of willing, hard-working folk. We have a solid recruiting base in the people we've already got in the Deeps, and the people Aria keeps sending down from the other districts."

I paused and then looked up at the wall, where Syed had fixed the crude map of the Maw's territory we had found.

"Just so long as we have a plan," Jesse said softly, the big drell shifting in his seat.

"Oh, I have a plan," I nodded, desperately fumbling in my brain for such a thing. In truth I had nothing of the kind... I knew that we couldn't simply retreat and blow the lift, and that we couldn't just try and creating an armed outpost around the Lift either. We'd be under siege from the start, and things would only get worse from there. That just left... what?

Laila must have caught the look on my face, because she sighed and leaned forward, wincing as she shifted the sling that held her wounded arm aside.

"We'll bring the Maw's former neighbors and sub-gangs into our fold," she explained for me, "We'll have to hit them all at once; if we take them one at a time, it will give the others time to regroup or band together. If nothing else that will give us a buffer zone around the lift."

"So here's what we do…" I continued, nodding my thanks at the one… _family_ member I had left in this entire galaxy.

* * *

 **Location: Lisha Slave Yards, Kima District  
(Titan's Wrath Territory)**

Harran ul Culorahk waved impatiently as the next batch of slaves was herded into the pens. Two or three of his subordinates moved from figure to wretched figure, fitting the electronic collars around necks. Helge sneered at the crude devices: he much preferred chipping as a method of control. Talented or resourceful slaves routinely found ways to remove or disable the devices, and then slave merchants might as well _whistle_ for their merchandise. Internal chips were much harder to locate, much less disable. And if you put it the base of the spine, it was almost certain death to attempt to remove them, short of a full surgical team.

But if wishing a thing made it so, he'd be back on the homeworld in a palace of gold, surrounded by pleasure slaves and red sand to his dying day.

He tapped on the screen in front of him, cursing the circumstances that had led him to assume these mundane tasks that were _clearly_ beneath him. That _blue whore_ had taken a dozen of his best fighters for her little raid, without so much as a 'by-your-leave' or 'if-you-please.' He stabbed angrily at another datapad, letting his mind wander to what he'd _like_ to do that smirking asari.

His sadistic thoughts were interrupted by the noise of a strangled yelp from one of his guards, and he saw the salarian tumble backwards as the massive gates swung open. A dozen armored figures entered the courtyard, weapons at the ready. His hand instinctively went to his hip, but then he cursed as he realized the weapon had been left on his desk in the bustle of this morning's inventory-taking. He still managed a sneer of defiance as an armored turian, one arm in a sling, walked towards him. She lifted the arm that held the pistol… and activated an Omni-Tool on her wrist. A holo-image of his own face appeared on the projected screen, as well as a somewhat-crude 3D-rendering of his slaveyards.

"You're Harran ul Culorahk?" the turian's synthesized voice came from her helmet. Harran only nodded, his lower set of eyes never leaving the gun, once again pointed in his direction.

"You supplied slaves and fighters to Maya B'Theran, of the Maw's Wrath."

"I had no choice," he said very slowly, feeling the deep well of hatred behind those words. "That bitch had me by the-"

Harran ul Culorahk never finished his sentence before the pistol barked and the round went through his upper pair of eyes. As his limp body crumpled to the ground, Laila Adonis turned to the other members of the Titan's Wrath, who were staring in horror and trepidation at what had just happened.

"We are the Legends," she declared, her voice amplified by her helmet speakers. "And as of right now… the rest of you work of us."

* * *

 **Location: Incave Apartments, Kima District  
(Gaping Maw Territory)**

"What the _fuck!?_ "

Michael Belmont, better known as "Shifty" to those who knew him, only had enough time to stutter the question before an armored boot-heel caught him square in the chest and sent him flying backwards onto the filthy couch that sat near the entrance. Then a dozen armored figures were coming into the room, and shots were thundering as the guards charged with overseeing the red-sand processing and manufacture lifted their own weapons towards the newcomers.

"STOP SHOOTING!" he heard himself scream, and to nobody's greater surprise than his, the gunfire stopped. Maybe it was the fact that the Gapers realized what a one-sided fight it was. More likely they, like himself, had also realized what a terrible combination gunfire and the giant vats of volatile chemicals around them made. A quarian, _the one that had kicked him,_ Shifty realized, made her way from the door to stand in front of him. Glowing eyes narrowed at him behind the polarized visor.

"You the _bosh'tet_ in charge here?" she asked.

Shifty shook his head nervously, pointing a finger towards Casey, who stood in the corner with a separator in his hand. The quarian's right arm glowed, and Casey didn't even have time to scream before his neck was broken by the impact against the ceiling.

"You are now," the quarian said, chuckling.

"Listen up, people!" she called out the giant roomful of folk, most of them wearing masks or rebreathers as they handled the sensitive product, and its dangerous by-products. They all stared in shock, nobody moving a muscle.

"As of right now," the quarian continued, and a metal hand lifted, finger pointed at the surrounding figures. "the Gaping Maw have just been incorporated into the ranks of the Legends of the Deep. Congra-fuck-you-lations."

* * *

 **Location: Jiro Warehouses, Kima District  
(Blade Casters Territory)**

Durak Kaplan stumbled as the two other krogan who held him half-pulled, half-dragged him along. Then he grunted in pain as one of them kicked the back of his knee, sending him to the ground. He shook his head, his vision clearing to show him two sets of armored boots. His eyes followed them up to reveal a scarred face of a krogan, with the right eye missing entirely. The krogan in front of him lifted up a hand, showing a single signet ring around a massive knuckle.

"Do you know this symbol, _Kottir?_ " the scarred face rumbled, using the krogan word for 'outcast,' or 'exile' if his punch-drunk brain was remembering it right.

Kaplan took another look at the ring, and then nodded slowly.

"Nakmor," he answered. "Clan Nakmor."

The large krogan in front of him bent over and took the cigar from between his teeth. He tapped it lightly on Kaplan's shoulder, knocking the ash off.

"That is a _Blood Pack_ mark you bear beneath that Blade Caster's tattoo," the Nakmor krogan grunted. "And these weapons your gang has been smuggling into the District likewise have Blood Pack markings."

" _Battlemaster_ …" Kaplan began, but the giant krogan back-handed him with a ringing slap.

"Atria," he rumbled, "Did I give this worthless _lump of flesh_ leave to speak?"

Another figure shifted behind him, holding one of the rifles from the gang's stock of weapons.

"No, Syed," a female voice answered. "You did not."

Durak Kaplan bit back the rush of anger as an involuntary growl escaped him. Nakmor Syed turned back to look at him.

"It was a fine little scheme you have, _former_ Quartermaster Durak Kaplan," the Nakmor continued, "Using your knowledge of Blood Pack weapons caches to line your own pockets for profit. After all, who is going to be angry that you're _peddling_ the property of a dead Emperor?"

Durak Kaplan's brow ridges furrowed as he heard his old Blood Pack rank given, and then the question of who exactly could have known that was answered as he remembered where he had heard the name 'Nakmor Syed' before, and fear replaced confusion tenfold.

"No, I would never..." he protested, but the fist descended anyway.

The krogan of the Blade Casters gang winced and grimaced as the massive armored form of Nakmor Syed beat their leader to a bloody pulp. The Durak krogan's breath was coming in broken, wheezing gasps as Syed straightened, breathing hard himself from the exertion.

"We are Clan Nakmor!" he bellowed, and the surviving prisoners winced. "We stand with the Legends of the Deeps, as do you now."

" _You_ ," he emphasized, walking down the row of kneeling krogan, each of them quailing before his intense gaze, "have no rank amongst us. No honor, no clan. You sacks of _shraak_ are not even worthy of _NAMES_."

He paused at the row of weapons on the wall, reaching over to take out a Graal Spike Thrower, turning it over in his hands.

"Serve with honor, fight with courage, and one day, I will restore your names unto you."

He tossed the weapon at the nearest prisoner, who caught it reflexively, staring at the weapon and back at Syed, clearly confused.

"Rise, as the newest members of Clan Nakmor, and initiates of the Legends."

* * *

 **Location: The 'Bank', Kima District  
(Moon Dogs Territory)**

Fasma Tasso fixed the loupe on the small, seemingly innocuous credit chit in the palm of her hand, the jeweler's eyepiece magnifying the counterfeit many times over to scan for irregularities or flaws that could give it away to the casual observer.

Around her, her fellow Moon Dogs worked at their stations, arranging the finished counterfeit chits in orderly rows, or stacking them in stainless-steel briefcases. These would be taken to their contacts up on the main Afterlife District. Discreetly, and very few at a time, they would be distributed in the main casinos and shopping districts on Fumi and Doru as well. Some would even be shipped to destinations like Tortuga or Cartagena, where the counterfeit chits would be even harder to identify and nigh-on impossible to trace.

"Who know where each of these may end up eventually?" She wondered to herself, turning the small piece of fake currency over in her hand. "Maybe in the purse of a rich woman on Illium, or the desk of a _had'diq_ in the Hegemony, or even perhaps a diplomat's pocket on the Citad…"

There was a muffled _thumping_ sound above them, and dust floated down in a mesmerizing layer from the ceiling tiles. But Fasma only had enough time to even register the sight in her brain before the realization of what had _caused_ came roaring to the forefront of her mind.

 _Gunfire_.

A dozen or so other Moon Dogs came to the same conclusion as she did, apparently, as guns were drawn and figures began running for the massive door leading to the stairs that led to the gang's headquarters above them. Before they reached it however, the iron-reinforced door exploded, sending fragments scattering like a frag-grenade.

"Drop your guns and raise your hands!" A booming voice cut through the explosion's aftermath. "Now!"

The group of gunmen fanned out from the entrance of the basement. Several of the closest Moon Dogs brought their guns up, but rifles barked, and they crumpled, brought down by the intruders' superior firepower.

The man at the head of the group sauntered forward. The rebar welded to his helmet gave him the very distinct look of a turian alpha's head-fringe. The armor was a matte black, with a silver, stylized 'L' on the chest-plates.

"Radoso?" a synthesized voice stated simply. "Do your thing."

A salarian in identical armor reached up to remove his helmet, and then moved to one of the machines carefully printing one of the counterfeit credit chits, and then to another responsible for programming worthless copies of digital currency. The technicians currently at those stations moved aside with wide-eyed shock.

"Well?"

"It'll do," the salarian nodded, seemingly satisfied with the equipment.

The leader turned to where Fasma standing behind the desk, the drell's hands resting on its surface in a seemingly casual gesture, willing herself not to make any sudden moves.

"Do you know who we are?" he asked.

She looked at the armor, and then around the room before nodding.

"The Legends," she answered.

"And do you know who _I_ am?" the tall man asked again. This time her gaze went to the unique style of helmet, and the pistol-grip shotgun pointed in her direction.

"You are Lord Khentu Emrys," came the reply.

"Correct on both counts," the Legend's leader nodded. "The majority of your fighters and your leaders are currently dead, two stories above you. You lot, however," he gestured to the room around them, "get the options of choosing to join our own organization as part of our Kima branch."

The shotgun shifted, ever so slightly.

"Does that sound like something you'd be interested in?"

Fasma gulped and felt her second eyelids blink nervously, and she nodded slowly.

"Excellent choice," the human replied, "Welcome to the Legends."

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **So now the Legends have been forced back into the muck and mire of Omega life. But Kima is a far cry from Doru, and this is a very different Khentu than the one who led the _Pharaoh's Hounds_. **

**My thanks to Katkiller-V, for his beta-reading skills, and the use of his Mass Effect alternate universe.**

 **As always, please leave your thoughts/suggestions/constructive criticisms in the reviews below, even if it's a simple "Good job, I enjoyed it."**

 **Rock on, my friends!**

 **-Tusken1602**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

seabo76, BJ Hanssen - They are both substantial losses to Khentu, though completely different _kinds_ of losses. One is a great and powerful personal and emotional loss, and the other is a strategic military loss. The Bloody One made a deal with Khentu, and thus would back him against any other Legend or outsider who would try to supplant him. Now... the only thing protecting Khentu is his own instincts. And Laila Adonis.

EE-RAH!


	28. Act 5: Expansions

**Holy Warrior  
** _(Father Ignatius)_

 **Date: 8/5/2186  
** **Location: Grand Arena, Deep District, Omega**

There were several glances shot my way as I walked down the stairs. Some like Muerta just shook their heads, while Others looked hopeful and sent encouraging smiles my way. Jesse Jalos, by contrast, looked mournful, as if he were watching me walk to my death.

Which perhaps I was.

Our expansion into Kima had been rapid, if only because we seemed to have our own house in order, and the others around us were too disorganized and stunned at the direction of the attack to mount any kind of resistance. Morally and economically, Kima was the bottom of the Station, ironically even more so than the Deeps. We had started with _nothing_ with the Deeps, so we had been able to establish a society built around warrior's honor and pride in a hard, honest day's work. Kima, on the other hand, already had a well-established culture of exploitation, corruption, and dog-eat-dog predation going back centuries.

Our efforts to import the culture we had organized in the Deeps had been… less than successful. The territory around us simply changed hands too many times for us to establish any kind of alliances or relationships with our neighbors, or even our new citizenry. Most of them were simply too used to changing their allegiance every couple of months and living their lives as they always had to pay much attention to our earnest efforts to improve their lot... and we were getting few new recruits as a result. Once we had fought five gangs in a single week and while we had won each of the fights easily, thanks to our technological superiority, each of the losses we had sustained had been someone we couldn't spare, while our enemies multiplied in seemingly unending waves of poorly-equipped, poorly-led hordes.

And Khentu had thrown himself into each fight with reckless abandon, which had won him tons of esteem and leadership points with the krogan amongst us but gave the rest of us no end of unease. Our fearless leader wasn't spending his time 'leading' so much as 'killing other people'. Which meant that many of the old power struggles and tensions that he once so ably kept bottled up were beginning to boil over once more.

Worse, he wasn't alone. There was also Laila.

She was the one whom we could usually count on to talk some sense into Khentu. Now, she was another liability. On the few occasions she wasn't right next to Khen, gunning down our enemies, she was withdrawn into the logistical nightmare that equipping, running, and organizing both of our controlled zones was becoming. Her normally calm and concise orders were gone, leaving her snappish and ill-tempered, to the point where I wasn't sure she wasn't more of a liability in managing the growing mess.

Which is what had led us here, to this mostly-empty storeroom. We had all agreed that something needed to be done, and in the group's supreme wisdom, _I_ had been nominated to make that change come about. It made sense: I was one of the original survivors of the fall, but still technically an outsider, or at least enough of both to both challenge Khentu, but not be a rival... and unlike nearly anyone else, I had at least a small chance of fixing this without violence.

My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of my quarry approaching. Or, at least one of them. I leaned against a crate to wait.

"Khentu?" came Laila's _contralto_ voice. "What did you want to see me about?"

"What?" Khentu's baritone answered. "I got a message saying _you_ wanted to see _me_."

On cue, the door behind both figures slammed shut.

"What the…?"

"The door's locked!"

"And it will remain locked," I said, stepping forward, "until we've had this conversation."

Both figures were uncharacteristically unarmored, dressed in Omega dungarees. Laila's was wide-sleeved, in typical turian fashion. Her mandibles flared slightly at the sight of me.

"What are you up to, priest?" she rumbled, with a good degree of sub-harmonic _thrumming_ beneath her tone.

"You're becoming unhinged, both of you," I answered, getting directly to my point. "You're throwing yourselves into your work, and you've not given yourselves proper time to grieve."

"What is this, a therapy session?" Khentu asked. "I don't have time for this."

He brought up his left arm, bringing his Omni-Tool online. "Barco, this is Emrys, open the storage room doors."

There was no answer.

"Barco?"

"I've _made_ the time for you," I shrugged.

Khentu looked up, with his typical wry grin.

"So, this is a conspiracy," he said, only half-amused. "A mutiny."

I winced at the last word. "Call it an intervention."

Laila merely leaned against the wall, folding her arms across her chest, while Khentu turned away to stare at the suddenly very-interesting wall, both pointedly _not_ acknowledging me.

"You are going off half-cocked," I continued, likewise disregarding their attempts to ignore me. "Going off on half-brained schemes, barely disguised quests for a vengeance you will never have. And if I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to get yourselves killed, rather than face your own loss."

" _Enough_." Khentu's voice was a hiss, concealing pain and anger.

"It isn't," I replied doggedly, "Every day you put yourselves and these people, whom you promised to defend and protect, at risk, you are saying that Waz died for nothing."

" _Don't_ say her name." Now Khentu had spun to face me, and his hand was twitching for a weapon that, thanks to Osman and the asari twins, I knew that neither of them had. But that was far from saying neither one was dangerous, much less both. " _You_ don't say her name."

"Every day you put other Legends at risk on _your_ pointless search for revenge, you are spitting on Wasilla's grave," I continued. My words were harsh, but they were what was needed. Laila's tight-clenched jaw dropped slightly in shocked surprise at my boldness, but Khentu's fist clenched.

"Say her name one more time… _priest_ , _"_ he hissed, and now the voice was a growl, low and infinitely more dangerous. I took a deep breath as we stared each other down.

"Wasilla M'taza."

The scream was equal parts rage and pain. I was vaguely aware of Laila calling out our names before Khentu's anticipated bull-rush charge caught me around the waist. Rather than push against him or let him slam me to the ground, I merely rolled backwards, using the momentum of the reckless attack against him.

In the year that I had been on Omega, I had been forced to fight on more than one occaision, but never with Khentu, not even in the sparring ring. So, I had the advantage of having seen _his_ hand-to-hand fighting style, and he had never seen mine. As I was coming to my feet, I felt my hands snapping towards a kick that I already knew was coming, and then I was dodging wild haymakers. I lashed out with a knee, catching a kick aimed at my groin before it had time to build momentum.

"That's right!" I called out, continuing my _very_ un-priestly therapy session. "That's right, boy, let it out!"

There was a stinging pain as one of Khen's punches connected, but I felt two of my counter-jabs find their target as well. Both of us staggered back, wiping blood from noses.

"Stop this!" Laila called out, but Khentu was already closing again, this time trying to answer my trained boxer's tactics with dirty Omega street-fighting. So, I shifted tactics, closing with a _judo_ hold and going down to the ground, me on top.

"No," I said between gritted teeth. "Come on, Khen: Scream, cry, whatever you have to do, just let it out. _let it out_!"

The roar that answered was almost krogan in nature, and with a herculean effort, Khentu _lifted_ himself bodily off the floor, rolling to land on top of me. Winded, I felt my hold loosen, and then an elbow to my face allowed Khentu to break free entirely. Stars and colored spots clouded my vision as more punches rained down on me, and I could only block maybe one in three.

"KHEN!"

I was only vaguely aware of a dark form knocking Khentu off me in a clawball-tackle. Dark spots blurred across my field of vision. I don't think I passed out, but I wouldn't swear to it. When I did recover enough to sit up slowly, the only sound I heard in the dimly-lit room was sobbing.

Khen and Laila were sitting on the floor, holding each other. Tears were openly mixing with the blood on Khentu's face, and Laila was rocking back and forth, a low keening sound escaping her.

"I killed her," Khentu was saying. "I killed her."

"What are you talking about?" Laila asked, pausing in her own grief to turn and look at him.

"The biotic suppress…" Khen sucked in a breath. "The suppress…. That damned _collar_. If I hadn't insisted that she wear it…"

"Then she would have tried to use her biotics to fight them, and it would have roasted her brain," the turian answered. "And then you and I would _still_ be having this conversation, only it would be about how you _didn't_ make her wear it, and how that was all your fault."

"I… I just…"

 _"Listen to me!"_ Laila's voice was still racked with pain, but its tone was firm. "It's nobody's fault. Not yours, not mine, not Waz's, not anybody's, except for an asari whose reach exceeded her grasp."

I grunted as I propped myself up on my elbows, rolling to get to my feet. Wincing from a dozen cuts and bruises, I turned to sit down by the door, leaving the two of them in peace. I doubted… no, I was _positive_ any licensed therapist would be absolutely appalled at the creativity of the "therapy session." But the only thing that mattered to me were results. The two of them were facing their pain, and had each other to help themselves through it, and past it.

I gingerly touched what I strongly suspected was a swelling eye, feeling the hand come away slick with blood. Another stab of pain lanced through me as I reached for the Medi-gel and began what self-application I could. The door wouldn't unlock for another hour, if Barco followed my instructions. That should be long enough.

 _God and the saints, I hope so, anyway. I don't have the strength for any more "sessions."_

* * *

 **Chosen Heir  
** ( _Ptolemy Emrys)_

 **Date: 8/23/2186  
** **Location: Capek, Haskins System, Titan Nebula  
** **Project Rampart, Cerberus Quetzalcoatl Cell**

 _"…and I urge each and every one of my colleagues to do the same."_

The woman on the hologram was breathtakingly beautiful, the symmetry of her face, her hair, _Ra_ , her whole body giving her the appearance of having been sculpted from alabaster. But her looks were surprisingly secondary to the words of her manifesto:

 _"We are NOT taking Cerberus in a radical or new direction_ ," she insisted. _"We are restoring it to the ideals that we all believed in, and the bright hopes we dreamed for the future."_

And with that the transmission ended, leaving the occupants of the room stunned and silent. Apparently, Lawson and several of her co-conspirators had just launched some sort of _coup_ attempt for leadership of the galactic organization known as Cerberus. How successful they had been, versus how successful they _claimed_ to be, was impossible for us to determine from our remote corner of the galaxy.

"Luke?" Robert Markham, captain of the _Duat_ , looked incredulously at the comms officer, who spread his hands in a helpless gesture.

"There is no answer, skipper," Luke Thiele answered. "From either Kronos or Minuteman Station. I've dialed three times. I've taken apart the damn comm-station and put it back together. I've been able to confirm that a connection _was_ established, but nobody's answering the call. Either someone else is running the show, or they're too busy to answer."

"That doesn't make any sense!" the Cerberus captain hissed. "Everything runs through Kronos. Even if the Illusive Man was killed _someone_ would respond!"

The words hung in the air, like some kind of portent of doom.

"What then, Captain?" I asked calmly.

"That's…" the poor man said, trying to grasp what exactly had taken place in front of him. "No, that's impossible, there must be some other kind of explanation. Lawson was his right hand... This…" he gestured to the hologram of the woman, "is obviously a trick; some kind of test to try our allegiance."

"That doesn't make _any_ kind of sense," Dr. Chou snorted, the short Asian woman almost sneering in derision. "The only kind of people who do that kind of shit are fools or egotistical morons. The Boss was neither."

"So, the only question that _matters_ is, 'What exactly do we do now?'" Evan Taggart asked. He was the chief engineer of Project Rampart, along with Dr. Chou's programming expertise.

"Cerberus protocol is clear on this matter," Markham stated, a semblance of calm returning to his voice. "It dictates that we salvage what we can, scuttle the project, and then beeline back to friendly territory."

"You can't do that!" Taggart snarled. "We only _just_ got everything squared away. We're _days_ away from finally having everything ready."

"For what, Taggart?" Markham snapped back at him and gestured again towards the hologram. "This transmission burst is nearly a _month_ old. The most likely scenario is that there are now _two_ Cerberus organizations running around, each one determined that it is the _true_ Cerberus, and God only knows how bad the fighting is or who else is involved. Which one do we work for? Which one do we report to? Is the boss or Lawson even fucking _alive_ at this point, or is that damn Russian running the show? We don't _know_ fucking anything!"

"We must also not underestimate the wisdom in waiting," I suggested. "The Illusive Man knows where we are… someone will be in contact eventually."

"No, no way," Markham shook his head. "The _Duat_ is anchored and ready to go. I'm taking my men and getting the hell out of here. We'll get back to the Alliance, back to Earth, and figure out what in the hell happened. You lot can stay here and starve to death, if you want. We're ramps- up at 18:00."

And with that, he spun on his heel and left the room with Thiele in tow, leaving me and the two science operatives in the room.

"Well, I guess that settles that," Chou frowned.

"Does it?" I asked.

She and Taggart looked up at me in mild confusion.

"What do you mean?" the Earth-born engineer asked.

"I mean, that we are a hairs-breadth from having a fully-functional battle-mech factory online," I answered. "That is not a resource that should be so quickly discarded because someone like Markham doesn't have the nerve for the long game."

"But without Cerberus…" Chou began.

"If circumstances were different, would you be open to backing me?" I asked.

Taggart shifted slightly in his chair.

"I didn't sign on to be some lackey to Terminus warlords," he said slowly.

"Nor would I ask you to do so," I reassured. "Would you be interested in being an equal part in a more… independent enterprise to Cerberus' more close-minded endeavors?"

"You mean to say…?"

"I mean to say only that I have no intention of going to Earth," I stated evenly and calmly. "Even assuming we could _make_ it through the Terminus and the Traverse and back to Citadel space, there is nothing for me there. Now, is this where we part ways, or are you interested in pursuing a more profitable relationship?"

"I'm in," Taggart replied, almost immediately. "There's nothing for me back on Earth either, besides a long list of exes and arrest warrants."

Chou paused a good while longer, rubbing a single finger along her bottom lip as she visibly thought about it.

"Without Cerberus to supply logistics, how will we even fabricate the mechs?" she asked. It was a very practical question, perhaps most importantly because it was _not_ an outright refusal.

"Leave that to me," I answered. "I can find a way to get the materials. Does that mean you're in?"

Chou leaned towards me, and a hand drifted up my sleeve.

"Let's just say I am also interested in continuing this particular… relationship," she said coyly.

"Very good," I nodded curtly, only half-ignoring the implications of that sentence. "Head to your offices and secure the doors. Take the prototypes and set them to 'Guard' mode. Keep your people close for this next part."

Both nodded wordlessly, walking quickly away. I spun on a heel and made my way down the corridor, bringing up my Omni-tool. Quan's face came up on the screen.

"Speak, my Pharaoh," the priest intoned.

"Quan," I said slowly, arching an eyebrow for emphasis. " _I find myself in Need of a good man_."

At the code-phrase, the priest betrayed nothing, only blinking before placing a hand on his chest and forehead in an Arrow salute.

"It will be done, Divine One."

I cut the connection and dialed again. This time the face was breathing heavily, and it looked like he was running pell-mell through one of the myriad canyons that surrounded us.

" _Tol_ ," the smiling face nodded, "The training is going well. Another month or so of drill and…"

"Abdul."

"Yes?"

" _I find myself in Need of a good man._ "

Understanding crossed his face, and then Abdul Abbas also nodded, a grim look on his face. "It will be done, my _Pharaoh_."

I felt an inexplicable pang at the giving of my title as I ended the call. Abdul was perhaps the only person I had left in the galaxy that even _dared_ to call me by my nickname, and even then, only when we were in private. Even my relationship with Chou and the few pleasant nights we had spent together was strictly sexual, which suited both of us just fine.

By then, I had come to my own quarters, and with a push of a button, I sealed the doors shut behind me. Within moments, the case holding my new suit of armor had been opened, and I was sealing my helmet in place. Looking down at my chest, I smiled in grim satisfaction as the armor answered my commands, and the 'C' logo of Cerberus simply faded away from the adaptive plating.

Cerberus had once again been an invaluable ally, supplying the Blood Arrows with recruits, supplies, weapons, and a base from which to turn my motley collection of Terminus survivors into a formidable force. I would have been content to use them, and be used in turn, for a while longer; our relationship had been mutually beneficial to a great degree... but that transmission had changed things. Once again, Cerberus had outlived its usefulness, and once again it had to be discarded.

I opened the door to find a half-dozen Blood Arrows assembled outside my door, likewise armored from head to toe.

"Armor," I said simply as I made my way out between them. "Get out of those _ridiculous_ colors."

Each of the figures lifted an Omni-Tool, and the white, black, and gold Cerberus coloration faded to the Blood Arrows' brown, with red accents. Now that we could distinguish friend from foe, we set out, _Harrier_ rifles in hand. The Cerberus-issue guns weren't much more than heavily-modified _Mattock_ rifles that Terminus colonists had been using for decades, but they were certainly much better than anything we had brought from Omega or been able to secure since.

A gunshot sounded, echoing in the hollow canyon. Several of the nearby technicians and workers looked up in alarm, only just now noticing the group of armed figures walking down the corridors. The wiser of these merely stepped back into the nearest room with a lockable door and closed them behind them. Others stood dumbfounded as we passed, scratching their heads or even yelling questions at us, demanding explanations. We did not answer.

The first Cerberus team we encountered were too surprised to even lift their weapons at us. Quickly, smoothly, and effortlessly, two of my group peeled off to disarm them and order them into the nearest storage room. The remaining four accompanied me across the courtyard to where the _Duat_ sat, still locked down in her mooring anchors. A uniformed man stood upon seeing us, a hand going to the holster on his hip.

"What the...?"

"Don't do it, Mac," I ordered. Byron McElroy, the _Duat_ 's XO, hesitated at the sound of my voice. We'd known each other for a long time now and had won each other's begrudging respect.

"Emrys, what the _fuck_ is going on?" he asked, eyeing the men with me, but not drawing his weapon. He, at least, had reasonable survival instincts.

"Markham's lost his nerve," I explained, adding my own embellishments. "He's evacuating the base, and running back to Citadel Space, in direct violation of the Illusive Man's orders to hold this station."

"But the transmission…"

"We don't have _any_ confirmation of _anything_ ," I clarified. "Markham's panicking and you know it. Even with the old stealth system, the odds of going through _that_ many relay jumps, through the heart of the Terminus back to Citadel space, is slim to _nil_."

The man hesitated further. More shots were going off in the distance now, and indecision flickered on his face.

"We both heard about what happened on Novgorod," I continued, " _Somebody_ or something is picking off entire colonies without detection. Our best bet is in lying low, not lighting up half the relays in the Terminus trying to go for hard burn towards Citadel Space. We'd be ringing every warning bell in Cessa's and Aria's infrastructure, and they'd dispatch hunters to track us down. Is that what you want?"

His jaw worked slightly, and he winced as another burst of gunfire sounded before quietly admitting. "No."

"I'm trying to _save_ your men, and mine," I continued. "The Illusive Man placed me in command of this installation, and I'm going to do just that. Are you with me, or are you against me?"

Rifles shifted slightly at the question, something that Mac didn't overlook. He blinked twice, and then his shoulders sagged slightly.

 _"Fuck_ ," he said at last. "Fine, I'm with you, Emrys. At least the part of my brain that says we wouldn't survive a hard burn for home."

"That's all I need," I said, reaching out a hand and shaking his in the Earth fashion. "I'm leaving you these four to help you hold the _Duat_ and keep any of Markham's men from taking her and marooning the rest of us here."

Mac nodded, almost reflexively, and the two of the Blood Arrows with me took up positions at the bottom of the gangplank, and the other two followed Mac into the ship. The crew of the _Duat_ were mostly in the compound, except for a few maintenance crews, whom I knew wouldn't be stupid enough to try and commandeer the ship for themselves.

I spun on my heel and made my back into the main building, collecting the two Arrows who had finished locking the stunned guards into a storage closet.

 **"Pharaoh."**

"Go ahead, Quan," I said into my helmet's comms.

 **"We have him. We're in the Mess Hall, currently."**

I breathed a slight sigh of relief. Perhaps today wouldn't be as bloody as I had feared. We made our way through the winding labyrinth of hallways, until we entered the main kitchen and cafeteria.

Apparently, Markham and the other Cerberus crewmembers had tried to overturn the tables in a desperate attempt to find cover once the firefight started. From the looks of things they hadn't been very successful. Four bodies lay sprawled at unnatural angles on the floor, one of them Luke Thiele. Nine other Cerberus members were kneeling against the wall, bound at the knees and wrists. Each of the Arrows present made their obeisance as I entered the room, while the prisoners glared their hatred.

"You _fucking_ traitor," Markham hissed. "After everything we've done for you…"

" _You_ are the traitor, Markham," I said simply. "These men died because you're a gods-damned coward who wanted to turn tail and run back to Earth."

The man's face went livid. "Put a weapon in my hands and say that again, _boy_ ," he rasped, straining against his bonds. I stuck out a fist to stop the Arrow next to me from sending his rifle butt into Markham's face.

"Very well," I shrugged. "Cut him free."

The rage on the face was replaced with blank disbelief, further compounded when the Arrows moved to do just that. I strode over to the nearest upright table, taking off my helmet and shifting to remove my armor, something with which Quan and a half-dozen other Arrows leapt to assist me.

"Is this wise, _Pharaoh_?" the Jackal priest asked under his breath.

"If I don't kill a man every now and then," I grinned back at him, "You'll forget who I am."

"Best then to just shoot the infidel and be done with it."

I shook my head. "Then I'd have to shoot all of the prisoners. I need to destroy his legend, and add them to our own ranks."

"As the Divine One wishes. Amun-Ra guide your hand."

I reached a hand to the small of my back and drew a curved blade. The monoblade was an Omega design, one with which I had practiced since I was a boy. Someone tossed a blade at Markham's feet, and he snatched at it like a drowning man snatches a rope. The Blood Arrows formed a wide half-circle, with the straight line of Cerberus prisoners completing the ring around us.

"Come then, _coward_ ," I taunted, taking a fighting stance. "And we shall see whose blood proves a liar."

Markham adopted a much broader stance, his Alliance-ingrained instincts and training kicking in. We circled warily for a few seconds, and then he was coming forward, the military-issue knife flashing forward in a series of savage thrusts. I flipped my blade to point downward, and with slight flicks of my wrist, parried three jabs in as many seconds. Then my hand flashed forward, and a red line appeared along the Cerberus captain's right arm. To his credit, he didn't flinch or waste a moment, merely dropping the knife from his injured right hand into his left and spinning away to get distance between us.

But now the right-handed man was fighting at a severe disadvantage, and he knew it. The precise, surgical thrusts gave way to wild, uncontrolled swings to keep me at bay, while he struggled with the severed tendons of his right arm. I ducked under a swing and aimed a kick at his left knee. I felt something give beneath the weight of the steel-shod boot and Markham went down, gasping at the pain. In that instant, I slapped at the wrist holding the knife and merely stepped past him, my own blade flashing.

I doubt Markham even felt the blow that severed his carotid artery. A hand went up in a vain attempt to hold his own life-blood in for a few more moments of precious life, and then he collapsed onto the now-slick floor.

"The rest of you," I said, turning to the prisoners once the Arrows' cheers had died down. "You have done no wrong, other than putting your faith in the wrong man. Markham's plan to run would have gotten us all killed, and he has paid for his folly with his life."

I looked down the long row of faces. Some were twisted in pain from gunshot wounds, other in sheer terror and fear. One or two wore blank, emotionless expressions, meeting my gaze calmly and coolly.

 _Those are the dangerous ones,_ my brain told me. _Keep a close watch on them._

"We are all here, fighting for the same thing," I continued. "We are fighting for the promise of a better world! Now it seems Earth has been lost to you, as it was to our ancestors so long ago, now. Now you are a part of our family, and we must go and _make_ a new world of our own."

* * *

 **Omega's Child  
** _(Khentu Emrys)_

 **Date: 9/22/2186**  
 **Location: Praxis Park, Kima District, Omega**

'Praxis Park' was a not-too-funny joke on what _had been_ a ring of buildings, back in the days before Ganar Yulaz's invasion. Now they were reduced to rubble, and the now wide-open area was used as a recreation area, a claw-ball field, whatever the neighborhood wanted it for... in the few rare occasions it wasn't being used as a fucking battlefield. '

Which, at the moment, it held the promise of becoming any second. With the mayhem caused by the elimination… no, the _extermination_ of the Maw's Wrath, the careful balance of power in this area of Kima had been turned upside down. Unfortunately for everyone, an all-out gang war was a situation that our Queen could not permit to continue, not on her new-and-improved Omega. So the word had come down from the very top of the station, _ordering_ all the gang leaders of the District to a meeting at Praxis Park, the truce to be guaranteed by Aria herself.

Of course, Aria didn't have the time or intention of making an appearance in the ass-crack of nowhere, nor had she even bothered to send one of 'daughters', so I had been the lucky one chosen to deliver her message. The message to _me_ had been abundantly clear: you made this mess, you clean it up. Or she would find someone who _would_.

Which was why I was pacing back and forth, watching enough gang leaders and bad blood assemble in a single place to blow the whole station apart twice over.

"Relax," Muerta said, handing me my helmet, "You'll do fine. This is what you do best."

"Diplomatically convincing giant groups of enemies not to kill each other?" I asked.

"No," the quarian shook her head, "bullshitting large numbers of idiotic _bosh'tets_ into believing whatever you say."

I shrugged. She had a point: leading large groups of people was, if you broke it down to its bare bones, just haggling with some fancy speeches thrown in. And that was something I _could_ do, and was damn good at, if I said so myself.

"Here goes nothing," I sighed, placing the helmet over my head.

"Good luck," Muerta replied as I bounded up the nearest pile of rubble.

" _Can you count_ , Suckers?" my voice boomed out over the crowd, amplified to the max.

The roar and buzz of conversation ceased, or at least went down to a dull hum.

"I say the future is ours!" I went on. "If… you can count."

Heads cocked, and confused voices whispered to each other. I had their attention. I had piqued their curiosity. Now I had to make the most of it before I lost them.

"Now, look what we have here before us," I continued pointing at specific figures in the crowd beneath the my improvised platform. "We got the Yellowroots, sitting next to the Lost Legion. We've got the Moon Runners, right next to the Daggers of Kima and the Outcasts of Palavan. Nobody is wasting nobody. _That_ is a miracle. And miracles, my friends, are the way things ought to be."

It really wasn't; it was just nobody was a big enough idiot to defy Aria's express summons or command. But that didn't stop me from making the point anyway:

"You are standing right now with three delegates from nineteen gangs," I explained, "and there are a dozen more in Lower Kima. Combined, that puts our numbers at roughly eighteen _thousand_ hardcore members. Thirty thousand, if you count all your affiliates, and twenty thousand more who are not organized, but ready to fight for their own neighborhoods."

There was a low rumble as the leaders started to do the math in their own heads.

 _"Fifty. Thousand. Soldiers,"_ I intoned, pausing for dramatic effect. "Now, there are no more than five hundred and _fifty_ thousand people in the whole of Kima. With _those_ kinds of numbers, we can not only hold our own, but we can begin to push back against those Gozu and Fumi sons of _bekwa_!"

Rumbles of appreciation and agreement came from some, while others were still nodding thoughtfully.

"The problem in the past has been _the Uppers_ pitting us against one another."

That was an outright _lie:_ the problem had been stupid little people fighting over stupid little neighborhoods. No one in the upper decks gave a flying fuck what happened down here, but I needed a straw-man for each of them to be united in hating, and the time-honored District rivalry was always ripe for manipulating.

"They've been keeping us at each other's throat over a few square feet of _concrete_. My turf, your turf, our little patch of _dirt_ and shit. They ration our _water,_ our _food,_ power, even our fucking _air!_ That's crap, brothers and sisters: The Lowers are _ours_ by right. We've bled for them, lived in them, and died in them."

Nods and some shouts of agreement now openly sounded in the square.

"All we must do is keep up the general truce," I explained, laying out my bold plan to restore some kind of peace in Kima. "We take over one borough at a time. The big Terminus players, the crime syndicates of Citadel Space, _every_ single ounce of red sand and dust that flows through this station, we can tax. Within a short order, we can rock the Talons, the Wave, the _fucking_ Eclipse, whoever thinks that they walk over us 'Omega gutter trash,' back on their heel."

Growls at the mention of the much-higher class gangs sounded. _That_ was just basic nature: no matter the species, everyone resented those more successful than they were.

"Nobody will be able to move _anything_ without our say-so. And when that happens, we will _all_ be standing a tip-toe on a mountain of credits."

I lifted my hands dramatically, gesturing to the assembled crowd.

"The rising tide raises us all, except for those too stupid to not get in the boat."

* * *

 ***SOME TIME LATER***

Five more leaders sat at a round table with me. The layout of the table had been a deliberate choice on our part, and a suggestion of Ignatius'. With this design, nobody was seated in positions of authority or subservience, which would have ended things before they even began. These were the five _largest_ gangs on Kima:

Far'red of the Tomb Spirits was a Lystheni salarian, barrel-chested and broad-shouldered. Marius Konstantin of the Ancestors, by contrast, was a wiry, skinny turian, but his eyes had that glimmer that bespoke of a fierce intelligence. Karaj ul Joshed of the Varren Fangs was missing both of his upper eyes, curtesy of a now-dead rival. Alexander Stuart had a scraggly neck-beard and a potbelly sticking out of tattered clothes. How a human had seized command of the 8-Zero Demons was a mystery to me but was a good indication not to underestimate him.

The most powerful and last to arrive was Areli Sukkoth of the Targa Horde, she sat with arms crossed, regarding me with an almost casual interest. The word on the street was that she and Aria had once been a thing, back in the early days of the Black Queen's rule. I doubted if that was true, though, considering her place down here in the shit... but if I was in her place, it's exactly the kind of rumor I would encourage.

"That was a nice speech," she said in an even tone. "Might even convince half of them to actually listen to you."

"Probably less than half," I shrugged in a gesture of honesty. "But the rest of them will soon pick up on the fact that this station is changing: the Talons are moving down, _with Aria's full support,_ and the SBC is enforcing their anti-slave laws wherever they go. They've got the Tersatani in their pocket and Khan's little pocket of Silver Tigers at their beck and call, and that's before you even get to the fact that the Blue-wave Corporation and the Blade Winds are being contracted by Aria to wipe out any dissenters or people who have delusions of clinging to the old ways."

Grim looks went around the table, but nobody bothered to contradict my statements of the facts as we all saw them.

"Just look at the White Tigers," I went on, "A year ago, the good money was on betting they were going to be major players on this station, and soon, the entire Terminus Systems. And where are they now?"

Uncomfortable glances and stares went around the table.

"They're _dead_ , down to the last man," I answered for them. "Because they couldn't get it through their thick skulls that _their_ Omega, for all intents and purposes, no longer existed. So, if you do not find allies, you _will_ die."

"You _dare_ threaten us?" Alexander Stuart hissed, hairy nostrils flaring in a sign of barely-concealed contempt. "The Eight-Zero Demons were on this station for _hundreds_ of years. What makes you think that…?"

"That was not a threat, Alex," I cut him off, "that was a statement of fact. It is also a fact that if you do not shut up and sit down, I will _kill you_ where you stand. _That_ was a threat. See the difference?"

The other human gaped in surprise, but he sank back down in his chair all the same.

"So, this is my proposal," I went on, "Simple, short and sweet: Those who join us will keep their territory, their people, and their position. The Legends will be the leaders only in _war,_ and simply good neighbors in peace. I am not the Talons, to put strangers in commander over you, or the Blades, to tell you what you can and cannot do. Within your own boundaries, you determine your own laws."

I went around the room, making eye contact with each of them.

"Or you can be stubborn and try to make it alone. And you can die with the satisfaction of knowing that you were free. And a fucking idiot."

* * *

 ***SOME TIME LATER***

"Will they join you?"

Oran's face on the communicator was the typical asari expression of barely-amused curiosity. I rubbed my forehead, trying to hold the migraine at bay with sheer force of will. I was vaguely aware of a short fuzz of _hair_ under my fingers as I rubbed my head in exhaustion.

"Some will," I sighed deeply. "They see the writing on the wall. More will follow their example, if we can set you up to be a big enough boogeyman."

Oran nodded in approval, and then her expression grew thoughtful.

"Who's the biggest opposition?" she asked.

"Stuart and the Eight-Zeros," I answered, "And Areli Sukkoth also seems determined to ride this wave alone. Fortunately, they're both too stubborn and pyjak-headed to join up with each other or any of the other gangs."

"Hmm," Oran nodded again, "I'll talk to Red: We might drive more people to your fold if we can make an example of the Zeds. Maybe your first target of your little… _cartel…_ should be the Horde. The smaller gangs will certainly jump at the chance to raid their comparatively-rich territory, and it'll be good practice for their coordination."

"Perhaps," I said through clenched teeth, resenting anybody dictating orders to the Legends. T'Loak or no, _I_ was the Lord of the Legends, and I felt a rush of anger at the subliminal condescension in her tone. Of course, she could no more help that than she could stop _breathing_ , what with being an asari speaking to a human, and with the last name of T'Loak to boot.

If Oran T'Loak noticed my own irritation, she did not show it. She merely put her fingertips together, and in that moment, she did bear a striking resemblance to the asari she called 'Auntie.'

"I have to say, Emrys, you've done quite well over these past three months," she mused.

"For a human?"

"For _anyone_ in your position," she said with a wry grin.

"I can't be said to have had a whole lot of _say_ in my life," I muttered, "Aria _gave_ me the Deeps. She's effectively _ordered_ me to establish peace and a semblance of order on Kima."

" _Re_ establish," Oran corrected. "And those orders came from Red, I believe."

I felt a mirthless grin escape onto my face, despite my efforts. "And anybody who doesn't see the strings on Red's new limbs is an idiot… _Oran T'Loak_."

Oran's smile grew a bit broader, and she cocked her head at me.

"I think that's what I like about you, Emrys," she said finally. "You've got a good head on your shoulders, but you don't let it give you delusions of grandeur. It's a rare trait on this station."

"So _fucking_ pleased you approve," I growled. "Right now, all my 'good head' is giving me is a raging headache. Was there anything else?"

Oran stood, and typed something on the console in front of her.

"We'll be in touch about the Zeds and Horde," she stated, "Talons out."

And then she cut the connection, leaving me alone with my thoughts once more.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **So now we've seen the situation change dramatically for both Emrys brothers, and all of their followers. In the aftermath of Cerberus' fragmentation, and with the reintroduction of the Legends to the ever-day politics of Omega life, the future is definitely uncertain for both of them.**

 **As always, my thanks to Katkiller-V for his edits and his world-building. **

**Please leave your thoughts/ reviews/ suggestions/ constructive criticisms in the reviews below, or feel free to PM me, even if it's only "Good job" or "Nice chapter." It's readers and reviewers like you all who inspire me to keep on writing, and your suggestions have done much to help me improve on both writing style in particular, and story-telling in general.**

 **ROCK ON, my friends!**

 **-Tusken1602**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

seabo76, BJ Hanssen, Arctech - I envisioned Khentu being the quintessential Omega citizen, with all the good and bad that entails. And sometimes it's not even how ambitious Khentu is (in fact, I'd say his personal ambitions are quite low), it's how much responsibility is literally dropped on top of him.

Guest - That's been something I've been trying to avoid with this story is plot armor; On Omega, nobody cares about your rank or your personal history. Dead is dead.

A Plexx - I'm also looking forward to getting back into the swing of things on Omega, except this time Khentu finds himself in the unusual situation of being the "Big Dog" on the street.

Lord Schmodder - Appreciate all the insights and reviews! Hope you enjoy and keep on reading/reviewing!

EE-RAH!


	29. Act 5: Next Moves

**Chosen Heir**  
 _(Ptolemy Emrys)_

* * *

 **Date: 10/22/86  
** **Location: Faryar Asteroid Belt, Faryar System, Hourglass Nebula**

"There it is," Taggart cheered, pointing with his chin. "Looks like our intel was good."

 _"Amun Ra_ ," someone breathed slowly.

"If I hadn't seen it for myself I never would have believed it," Quan admitted, shaking his head.

What we were seeing was a hulking trawler, with a half-dozen automated barges slave-rigged to its navigational system. Relative to us, the vessel appeared far below, drifting below the asteroid belt without anything resembling a major escort. But then, the ships weren't supposed to need one; this was the heart of a warlord's territory, a warlord well known for being Aria's ally and not someone whose ships were ever threatened.

"This is _still_ an insane plan," I stated, almost breathlessly as I contemplated what we were about to do.

"Glad you liked it," Taggert grinned widely at me. "Now, we have to time this just…. _Now._ "

Shoving off a solid platform into the emptiness of space was always an unnerving sensation. With the _Duat,_ we could have ordered the convoy to heave-to and boarded her in minutes. Of course, that would have been plenty of time for them to send off a distress signal, complete with a description of the vessel what had dared to steel from the Steel King, probably including everything they could find out about her crew as well. And that would have killed my plans before they were even made.

The massive trawler grew larger and larger through our helmet's visors, coming closer and closer at unnerving speed.

"Annnnnd…. _Now_ ," I heard Taggart hiss. "Magnetize, MAGNETIZE!"

Each of us clutched at the massive electromagnet fixed to each of our chests, pulling it free and then engaging the hand-held device. I felt a distinct pull as the magnet shifted my trajectory through space. My path, which would have taken _just_ past the massive vessel, shifted, and felt myself bracing for the inevitable…

 _OOMPH_.

A dozen exclamations, about half-and-half curses and thanksgiving, escaped from the figures who slammed safely into the side of the passing ship.

"Move quickly," I stated, locking my boots to the side of the ship as well. "We only have a short window."

We advanced across the decking, until Quan waved us over, grouping up as one of our number planted another square plate on her back to the entry port. She typed a command key into the Breach-Load, and then motioned us all back. The hull door _opened_ , a rush of air escaping out the door, as well as several dark shapes, ejected into the cold vacuum of space.

"Move in," I stated finally, after several seconds of silence. Slowly, our magnetized boots brought us inside the vessel, and there were a few moments of violently- disorienting nausea as our bodies adjusted to the ship's internal artificial gravity.

"Sarah," I nodded, and the Blood Arrow in question shifted to the door, and the hatched closed once more, locking us within our newly-acquired ship. Its former occupants had just met an untimely and unexpected demise, sucked into the merciless expanse. But with any luck that had also meant that they hadn't had any time to sound any alarms or send distress signals either. With a few more buttons, life support was restored, and I reached over to send the confirmation signal.

To my immense relief, six confirmation signals answered, showing that all of the other boarding crews had achieved safe landings as well, except they hadn't even had to worry about any crew members aboard their vessels.

"Sever the navigational drive uploads," I ordered, and the Arrows with me moved to obey. "Transponders?"

"Disabled, Divine One," came the answer.

I then opened a general channel to my newly-acquired fleet:

"Blood Arrows," I transmitted, "Hear the words of your _Pharaoh_ : You have done well, beyond even our most optimistic projections."

Smiles and nods were exchanged around the dozen crew I had with me, and amongst the others too, I had no doubt.

"From here we split up, going our separate ways back to Capek. Run your engines as little as possible, running only on inertial power. That will take more time, yes, but it will also prevent any casual scans from detecting you."

It would, in fact, turn a three-day trip into something more like three _weeks_ , but we had planned for it, and each team was prepared. Heinrich Bauer was not going to take the loss of an entire convoy lightly, and I had no doubt that patrols were going to be sweeping over the corners of the Terminus, looking for his lost prize. But they would be looking for a convoy, and for a group of pirates stupid enough to steal from one of Aria's closest allies.

"We've taken an entire convoy of the Steel King's product," I continued. "There is enough raw materials on these ships to build a battle-cruiser of our own. But instead, it will be the army with which we shall reclaim our homeland. _Pharaoh_ Out."

* * *

 **Omega's Child**

 _(Khentu Emrys)_

 **Date: 12/20/86  
** **Location: Argent Towers, Targa Horde HQ**

On Khar'shan, the _Targa_ move in great herds down the rivers, in constant search for new grazing lands. According to Syed and Chell, who had hunted them personally, they are fiercely intelligent and cunning and, when threatened, will stop at nothing until the perceived threat is dead.

Their namesakes on Omega, on the other hand, were both predictable and stupid. Areli Sukkoth's attempt to pull together a rival alliance against the Legends had been a classic tale of 'too little, too late.' She had trusted in the Targa Horde's size to ensure their survival, though had she been facing _only_ the Legends, she might have been correct.

Unfortunately for her, she wasn't, and facing the full might of the Legends Cartel they were woefully outnumbered. Bit by bit, street by street, the Targa had been forced back, and they had chosen this building structure to make their final stand.

"Lord Emrys," Syed chuckled, flexing the joints of his makeshift battle-armor, "We have her cornered, like an animal in a cage."

"That is the time animals become the most dangerous," I replied, looking up at the two giant structures that made up the Argent Towers.

"Well said," Syed grunted approvingly. "Nonetheless, the Moon Runners insist that they be allowed command of the vanguard."

"They _want_ to go in first?" I snorted, " _Amun-Ra_ , I thought I was going to have to volunteer somebody. Yeah, give them the go-ahead."

Syed clicked a button on the holo-screen projected by his left arm. A group to our left began sprinting forward, commendably staying low and darting back and forth between the rubble.

"They've gotten smarter," Chell observed, watching their formation advance through the defensive fire.

"It's a numbers game," I shrugged. "The stupid ones and the heroes die first, and now the only ones left are the ones with good survival instincts."

"They won't last long under that crossfire," Syed interjected. "Heavies in the center?"

"No," I shook my head. "We'd lose half of them, and I need your lot to ensure that this mob actually disperses and goes home when I tell them to. Send Muerta and her group. Tell them to keep up a steady pressure. I don't want or need any heroic deeds of daring-do, just draw their fire a little while longer."

Syed turned to give the order, and Chell gave me an approving look. "Hoping Far'red and the Tombs get their tunnel working?"

"That or give Jesse's team time to get into a position to cable in from above," I nodded.

Fighting with the Blood Arrows had meant that almost always, we were going up against superior numbers. We were always on the back foot, always at a disadvantage. Plus, on top of that, the gang wars up on Doru had been, until Uncle Nasser's return, exchanges involving only a few dozen fighters on each side at most. And even in Yulaz's invasion, and the fighting since then, I was in direct command of only a few hundred people.

Now, I was dealing in _huge_ strategic battles spread over dozens of blocks of Kima on multiple levels at once, directing the better part of six _thousand_ fighters from about a dozen different gangs into their various positions and roles in the larger battle. It wasn't something I was used to, I had to confess, though the ease in which Syed had stepped into a greater advising role was probably something to think hard about.

" **Emrys, come in."**

"Go ahead, Muerta," I spoke into the comm. "What's the situation?"

 **"They're throwing waves of _slaves_ at us right now," **came the answer. **"Some of them don't even have guns, just grenades. She's using them as some kind of a fucked-up version of artillery, driving us back down Carha Street."**

"That means she's desperate," I answered, and saw both krogan nod in agreement. "We gotta give her an opening she thinks she can use. Fall your people back to the Wauja hostels and link up with the Lost Legion."

 **"Acknowledged. Moving- _Fuck you, you stinking bosh'tet-_ Moving out."**

The interruption had been punctuated with shotgun shots, and I grinned as I cut the comm.

"Do you think she will take the bait?" Chell asked.

"She can't afford not to," Syed answered for me, shrugging. "Her only chance of victory is to inflict enough casualties upon us for us to offer favorable terms."

"Let's go make our trap even more irresistible, then," I stated. "Shields on me."

We pushed forward towards the rendezvous point I had given Muerta, several of the smaller gangs falling in step alongside us. Chell's visor slammed down into place, and she lifted her massive shotgun at the ready. On the other side, Syed was arming the _Cutter_ rifle he had welded onto his exo-suit, along with a half-dozen other toys and surprises.

The Targa Horde that had been attempting to take advantage of Muerta's retreat were now suddenly facing a massive wave of reinforcements. To their credit, they still contested every square inch of ground, rather than falling back in a panic.

 _Guess attrition works in her favor, too,_ I thought as brought down a turian attempting to flank us. _We've killed all her inept people as well_. _Only veterans and capable members left._

Suddenly, there was a panicked voice on the radio as someone shouted, **"Code Snake! CODE SNAKE!"**

A group of asari in close formation all flash-stepped forward in unison, half of them launching warps and the other half creating a barrier as they advanced. The quality of their armor would have been dead giveaway as to who they were, even without the figure at their head slicing some poor bastard clean in half with a glowing wave-sword.

It made a rough sort of sense, I supposed: I was the public face and figurehead of the Legend Cartel. If Areli was lucky enough to kill me, the whole thing might destabilize, or at least enough for her to make a quick deal with my successor.

I allowed myself a heavy sigh as I brought up my Omni-Tool and bright orange tech armor blossomed in front of me. Seemed like every poor dumb bastard on this level had fever dreams of taking me on in a one-on-one fight. All my fights and tussles with my brother had taught me exactly how to fight a biotic: hit hard and fight dirty. And I had zero time for her wave-sword, martial-biotic-arts bullshit.

To be honest, I wasn't a big fan of the flash-forged armor around me. It was a cast-off Eclipse model, and even though most salarians were enthusiasts for it, the truth was it didn't provide _that much_ more protection that a good, quality suit of reinforced plate. And it had the added disadvantage of lighting you up on a battlefield like a signal flare.

Which was exactly what I wanted it to do in this moment: If there was any doubt in Areli Sukkoth's mind as to if Khentu Emrys really was here, I had just erased it. I was the staked-out goat in this particular scenario, and the varren was closing in fast.

Three more of my side went down, clutching at missing limbs or opened torsos with every flick of her wrists. Her personal guard were hard-pressed to keep up with her, and one of them went down as she shielded her mistress from a shotgun blast to her back. Areli's focus was entirely on me as she shrugged off most of the firepower I was sending her way.

 _"_ Now."

A staggered line of stasis mines and nullifier grenades went off simultaneously, scattering everyone around in a confused haze of dust, concrete shards, and dissipated dark energy.

The sword-waving asari stumbled and clutched at her head as she tumbled out of the flash step that was supposed to take her past me and relieve me of my head. In that crucial moment, Chell's massive figure moved with deceptive quickness, raising her shotgun behind the right side of the asari's head

Areli Sukkoth died instantly, quickly followed by her all-asari unit of bodyguards. Without their overwhelming biotics, they were just folk in light armor, in the middle of a gods-damned firefight. _Cutter_ rifles barked, and several of them were literally turned into meat confetti. The others were bought down with small-arms fire, and occasionally clubbed rifles and bayonets.

I couldn't really blame them. They had probably bet that nobody this far down the station had even _heard_ of high-tech shit like nullifier grenades, much less have them. And she would have been right, except for the Legends' direct trade link to the Uppers via the Deep Lifts. It had still cost me almost double the market rate to acquire the dozen or so that we had just expended in a matter of seconds. However, given how total their surprise was, it looked like they had been worth every credit.

I hoped that there wouldn't be any more of her kind among what remained of the Horde's ranks: this kind of trick only worked once. And we didn't have too any more of those magical, biotic-stopping grenades.

"All brigades, Snake's Head is down," I called in, "I repeat, Snake's Head is down. All brigades, status report."

 **"Khentu."**

"Go ahead, Jesse."

 **"We have secured the West Tower,"** the drell reported. **"It would seem that Sukkoth had gambled most of what she had left on the offensive against you."**

 **"This is the Tombs,"** Far'red's voice cut in. **"We're through the basements of the East Tower, but we're still encountering heavy resistance going up."**

"Acknowledged," I replied. "Jesse, hold your position, and lay whatever fire support you can against the East Tower. Marcus, Karaj, divert every fire-team you can towards the East Tower."

 **"Holding position."**

 **"Acknowledged, Emrys."**

 **"Will do, boss."**

I turned to Muerta as the quarian glowed brightly, slamming a batarian in Horde armor against a nearby pillar.

"Push your brigade forward towards the East Tower," I stated. "Give quarter to everyone that asks for it. These bastards fought well, and it's not their fault they were on the wrong side."

I turned and began striding towards the distant sounds of gunfire.

"Clean whatever's left of this mess up."

* * *

 **Broken Vessel**  
(Laila Adonis)

 **Date: 1/01/87  
** **Location: The Deep Docks, The Deeps, Omega**

The new year was an exciting time for the Legends of the Deep, and the entire cartel, for that matter. The entire station was abuzz with news: apparently, the Hegemony had erupted into a _third_ civil war, the shaky peace established only a few months ago falling apart into bloody chaos and madness. This had come right on the heels of both Xentha and Eclipse declaring themselves their own independent states, with Cynthi T'Ravt and Jona Sederis as their queens. It seemed that the Terminus' careful balance threatened to erupt into open war at any second.

Closer to home, however, there had been more news from what had been about half of Little Egypt, now the Illium Minor red district. The Silver Blades Corporation had been formally ceded ownership of the Yeketerina system by the Citadel Council way the fuck out in the Traverse, and they were pulling out of all their other stations towards their new holdings. This included their holdings on Omega, to everyone's surprise. Already the Tersatani were slowly being phased in to the maintenance and security patrols, and the SBC was pulling out as quickly as they could manage, leaving the all-asari gang holding their territory, and our scrapyard contracts.

Predictably, Khentu had only shrugged at this news and continued with business as usual. I had to confess that that was a great relief to me. Any turian and their sense of _honor_ would have dictated an eventual return to his ancestors' burial place, or revenge against those who had ended their lives. Khen, on the other hand, seemed to care more about his _future_ , and those of our people.

 _Another reason you love him_ , some part of my brain informed me, _Practicality over appearances._

Of course, these days Khentu and I did not see much of one another, much to my personal regret. Ignatius and I had little interest in Kima and our expansion plans there, and Khentu had put us in charge of the Deeps and our constantly on-going rebuilding efforts as a result. The priest and his Earth-born colleagues had thrown themselves into the humanitarian side of it all, and the growth of his little 'congregation' reflected that.

I shook my head to return my thoughts to the present. Currently, a half-dozen ships were unloading various cargos, most of them bound directly for the Lift and the Uppers. Others, however, were being unloaded for local trade, which was a promising sign. A few more months and we should-

" _Laila_!"

The scream was deafening, and it was followed by a howl of anguish. I spun on my heel, seeing a batarian party unloading a groupof slaves, with one of them halfway between me and the taskmaster, who had brought up an Omni-Tool and ended the slave's sprint towards me. The human was writhing in pain from what had to be a neural lace.

And then the face turned back towards me... and I felt a very cold chill run down my spine.

"Tess? What in the spirits holy names?" I felt my pistol rise before I was even conscious that I had drawn the weapon, pointed at the figure of the batarian taskmaster. "Shut. It. Off."

The batarian looked as if she was about to object to my demand, but then there came the distinct sound of half a dozen rifles being armed and leveled in her direction. Very slowly, she pressed a button on the Omni-Tool, and Tess' moans ceased.

"The human is the property of my master, Ha'diq ul Ajin," the batarian female drawled in the throaty Camala accent. "I will _not_ permit you to take…"

"I have no intention of _taking_ any of Ha'diq ul Ajin's property," I clarified, forcing my pistol back into its holster with an act of will. I knelt down beside her and a hand reached out to seize my wrist in an iron grip.

"They took him!" she gasped. "Laila, they took him.."

"Who?"

"My son!" she answered, and the look she gave me was devoid of any of the panic or uncertainty I remembered seeing the last time I looked into them.

They were filled with only the cold and hard rage of a mother _rahth-_ bear having lost her cub.

I rose to my feet. "Whitson."

The young human came running, giving a Legends salute.

"Get on the comm," I ordered. "Get Lord Emrys down here. _Now_. Tell him that his brother's woman is at the Docks."

Jonn's eyes went wide and he looked the still-kneeling woman, and back to me. "At once, ma'am."

And then he was gone, as fast as his feet could carry him. I turned back to the female taskmaster.

"This woman had a child with her," I stated evenly. "I will purchase both him and her, at any reasonable price your master can name."

The batarian woman looked pensive, to say the least.

"These slaves have already been sold," she answered evenly. "I could not do such a thing, even if I wanted to. I do not promise what I cannot deliver. And I cannot break an agreement my masters have already made."

"If I may?"

I turned my head to see Medal ul Hederas standing there in his priestly robes. However, I did not fail to see how the woman's head went instinctively to the left at the sight of someone from Medal's caste.

"If this human truly is kin to the Emrys," he began, and I gave another nod in confirmation, "then perhaps you may inform your masters that the Lord of Legends wishes to pay _vyk'yaz_."

The word made both of us pause for a moment. The 'Redemption price' was a concept that dated back to Old Khar'shan, when the batarian tribes raided one another for captives. Whether or not modern _ha'diq_ s would recognize such a right would probably depend on if they were members of the conservative or liberal factions of their religion.

The female taskmaster looked at first the human woman on the ground, then back to me, and then to the priest again.

"I… will relay a message to my superiors," she said at last.

"Thank you," I sighed, trying to keep the sheer relief from my voice.

 ***SOME TIME LATER***

Tessa Jackson clutched the young boy to her chest, almost ignoring the whimpers of fear coming from the child. Once we had secured both of them, I had immediately ordered them taken to Arena. I sat down beside them, unsure of what to say. There were a thousand questions running through my mind, but I couldn't give voice to any of them. Most of them involved the boy…

The scars behind his ears showed that he too had been subjected to the insertion of a neural control lace. I knew for turians, at least, that could be severely damaging if they were too young. And, given that the tiny boy _couldn't_ have been older than three, there was no telling what kind of long-term effects that would have.

Just when I was beginning to work up the courage to ask a question, the door opened with a _bang_ that caused everyone to start violently. Khentu burst in, his eyes already scanning the room. Tessa gave a small gasp as the two of them locked gazes. It was only then that I remembered that the last time she saw him, he was still the fairly happy-go-lucky boy of Little Egypt. Now that boy was replaced with the scarred, war-torn leader of the Deeps.

"Tess!"

A moment later the woman was wrapped up in one of Khentu's signature bone-crushing hugs, and I could see tears in the corners of their eyes.

"Wha… wha… how?" Khentu asked. "We thought… I thought… Ptolemy said… Oh, _gods,_ Ptolemy…"

Tess held a hand up to stop him.

"I know," she cut him off. "I… we heard about what had happened."

The sound of a clearing throat drew our attention, and Father Ignatius gestured towards the young child. "Perhaps you would prefer to continue this conversation out of range of young ears?"

Tess nodded wordlessly, and Ignatius went on one knee in front of the child.

"And what is your name, little one?"

The boy hid his face behind his mother's leg at the strangers voice.

"It's alright, Alexander," Tess reassured him, giving a ghost of a smile for the first time since she got here. "You go on, honey. Momma's gonna be right here."

Ignatius gave a reassuring smile of his own, and then a piece of chocolate seemingly magically appeared in the palm of his hand. The boy's amazement grew as the candy disappeared and then reappeared as Ignatius plucked it from behind his ear. A childish giggle escaped him, and he toddled towards the priest, who scooped him up gently and carried him to the other side of the room, cooing softly. Khentu turned gravely back to Tess.

"What _happened?_ " he said softly, keeping his voice down. "Last we heard, you were on Beckenstein."

"We were," Tess nodded. "But then Gregg got offered a security job on Horizon. It was supposed to be easy work, mostly safe... and we'd have our own home instead of just a box apartment."

"Gregg?"

"My… my _husband_ ," she answered, and her voice grew grave again.

"Did he…" Khentu began. "Is he…?"

" _Dead_ ," Tess nodded. "The Collectors raided us… about two months ago now."

"I heard something about that," I replied. "Something about the Silver Blades and some batarians coming to the rescue of a human colony."

Tess nodded again, her face twisting a little. "I don't know really know what those mercenaries did, but I know the _Ha'diq_ attacked the Collectors. But once they'd driven them off... they grabbed as much as they could before the Alliance got there. Gregg… Gregg didn't make it."

Her fist clenched, and her face and tone hardened. Khentu and I shared a momentary look. This was _not_ the frail, emotionally-unstable Tessa Jackson who had left this station a few years ago. Somewhere along the line, some hard steel had been grafted into her soul.

"And then they… they herded us into the ships," Tessa continued. "For our safety, they said. I knew that was a load of _varren-shit_ , but none of us knew if the Collectors were really gone or if they were coming back, and we could still see shooting down south."

Heads nodded all around. Survival was something everyone on Omega could understand.

"Well," Khentu sighed, and he reached out, taking one of Tessa's hands and squeezing it. "You're safe now, or at least as safe as any place in the Terminus can be. You've got a place with us, as long as you want it."

Tessa squeezed his hands back, and a single tear spilled down her left cheek.

"Somehow… even being back here… it's good to be home."

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **So, everything is coming to a head, and we have quite a number of** **interesting developments coming from Omega, and all over the Terminus Systems. Khentu and the Legends are gaining ground and numbers and so, it seems, are Ptolemy and the Blood Arrows.**

 **And how will this affect the balance of power on this lonely space station?  
** **Only time will tell.**

 **As always, my thanks to Katkiller-V for his edits, and his creation of this wonderful alternate ME-Universe. Please leave your thoughts/ suggestions/ comments/ constructive criticisms in the reviews below, or PM me directly. Your feedback is always appreciated! **

**ROCK ON, my friends!**

 **-Tusken1602**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

BJ Hanssen - Never underestimate the power of the church militant. ;)

seabo76 - In the beginning of this story, Tol was just going to be the racist, asshole brother that everyone was going to be glad finally died. But then, over the course of the story, he very organically evolved into the character he is today.

Guest - My thanks, friend! As I said earlier, Katkiller-V is the one who built this world. I'm just the lucky writer who gets to play in it. But I appreciate the kind words all the same.

EE-RAH!


	30. Interlude: A Reunion of Brothers

**Chosen Heir**  
 **(Ptolemy Emrys)**

 **Date: 2/27/2187**  
 **Location: Illium Minor, Omega, Sahrabarik System, Terminus**

"Mercenaries, Soldiers, Pirates, to the right! Line up at lift four! Have your payment ready and read the fucking rules!"

The tall asari's shrill voice split the air, rising to carry over the hum and buzz of conversation. The crowd pressing to enter Doru was staggering. Most of them appeared to be residents of the lower levels.  
 _Probably coming back and forth from working in the Red-Light District,_ I thought.

"Residents from Cala, head to lift one! Be ready to show your IDs and work passes!"

 _There's that confirmed, then._

"Mercs, Soldiers, Pirates, to the right and line up at lift…"

I tuned out her endless repetitive instructions, removing my helmet as I approached the kiosk at the front of the line.

"Helmet off… oh," the asari droned and then corrected herself, looking up at me. She looked much younger than the one directing traffic, but she gave me a veteran's practiced appraisal of my arms, armor, and battle scars.

"Any weapons beside that pistol?"

"None," I answered, truthfully enough.

"Freelance or Org?"

"Freelance," I answered, biting back the sudden and irrational urge to proclaim my leadership of the Blood Arrows.

"25 credits for solo entrance, another 50 for going up armed," the younger asari stated, going back to the practiced, monotonous speech. The scanner _beeped_ as it cast a red light over my stationary form. She glanced at the results of the scan and a corner of her mouth quirked in an involuntary gesture of admiration.

"Biotics are another 50 credits, as is any armor over class four," she added, no doubt noting the quality of the armor beneath the unassuming drab paint job, and the expensive biotic implants the scan must have detected, if it was good for anything besides scrap. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the correct denomination of chit.

"175 credits," I stated, using a considerable amount of willpower to keep the irritation from my voice and body language.

There was a momentary check of the chit, and then she actually gave me a ghost of a smile as she handed me a green and red electronic card.

"This is a Visitor ID," she explained. "You will need to keep this on you at all times, or there will be _very_ ugly consequences."

I nodded wordlessly and moved past her to join the rest of the mercs and freelancers standing on the lift platform. As we descended down into Doru proper, several of them began grilling our Tersatani escort for the best places to get drugs, booze, and pleasurable company.

"I must say, _Pharaoh,"_ a voice came from behind me, "I had heard that Doru had changed, but I never expected this."

I nodded at Abdul's words as the lift cleared the main tunnel and the expansive, and undeniably impressive sight of Illium Minor came into startling view.

"Sneaking around back on Omega, where we should be kings and lords," Quan muttered from his own place beside me. "That the SBC had been given our divine territory was bad enough, but that sacred Egypt should be in the hands of these painted whores…" he shook his head sorrowfully.

"The Tersatani?" I scoffed. "Those harlequin-painted freaks couldn't organize a fuck-up in a whorehouse. They didn't come up with any of this, they just took it over from the Blades. Along with their proxy war with the Consortium."

"Like so many vultures," Abdul agreed quietly. "Lady Artana is _suddenly_ moved from being the leader of a ragtag group of misfits to being a major player on the station."

"It remains to see if she will be able to keep this… _Illium Minor_ together," I nodded. "Especially when Chou and Taggert arrive with the rest of our… cargo."

Grim smiles of satisfaction spread across the faces of the Blood Arrows with me. If the RAMPART program was on-schedule, the our fleet of cargo trawlers should be stopping in Firsthold now, picking up a shipment of pig iron for Omega. If any overly-zealous customs agent of Aria wanted to, he could come on board any of the ships and be greeted by shipping container after shipping container of the stuff.

And just beneath the surface would be the army that would restore our home to its rightful owners, and win justice for those we had lost.

A few minutes later, we were seated in an establishment calling itself the _Neuton Flare_ , which appeared to be a brothel that _happened_ to have a bar attached to it. After making it _perfectly_ clear that drinks were all we were after, we made our way into one of the smaller, private booths. A passive scan revealed no less than three recording devices, two of them audio-only, another one capturing video. Nodding silently, one of the Arrows deployed the pyramidal device on the central table. The faint whine it emitted was certainly annoying, but it would give us the needed anonymity.

As much as I hated to admit it, the district known as Illium Minor _had_ done well under the Silver Blades' management, fast becoming _the_ pleasure center of the Terminus Systems. Quan and Abdul quickly got into their age-old argument of what to do with this district once we were in charge, with the priest unsurprisingly advocating for its destruction on the grounds of its 'moral depravity,' and Abdul pointing out the more practical suggestion of taxing the revenue the place was doubtless generating.

"All future concerns which have little bearing on today," I sighed, resisting the urge to rub my eyes at their bickering. What is infinitely more valuable than the state of the _brothels_ is the condition of the _strongholds_ within this district."

The pair bowed their heads in acknowledgment and Abdul brought up another holo of the local district.

"The Tersatani, the Silver Tigers, and the Aramasi Serpents have an uneasy truce between them after they managed to muscle out the Blue Claws," he explained. "All of them have a mutual enemy in the Consortium, and they have elected to maintain the Neutral Zone between Illium Minor and the batarians' territory."

I felt my attention wander as more plans were proposed and more reports given, all of which pointed out what a nearly-impossible task that lay ahead of us: Doru had been transformed in our absence into a warzone, fueled by the stupidly-accelerated arms race between the SBC and their closest neighbors. But more challenging that that was the fact that we had to land our RAMPART mechs in enough numbers to establish a beachhead, but not in numbers great enough to make Aria think we were invading the station in earnest. It had to be a big enough invasion to seize Little Egypt back, but small enough to still pass as a minor gang turf war.

"..SBC moving into Novgorod, finalizing their zone of control there," I heard a business-suited turian on the Omni-Tool screen say. One of the Arrows was reclining back in his chair, his Omni-Tool pulling up the latest chapter of Black Night News, which had apparently transformed from a simple audio-only list of local announcements and bounty board into a fully-fledged news outlet, complete with scantily-clad reporters and business-suited newscasters behind large desks giving their opinions on the latest economic and political developments in the Terminus Systems.

"In other news, the Legends Cartel has moved up from the Deeps in force, eliminating the remnants of the Eight-Zero Demons," an asari wearing practically _nothing_ added. "Residents are warned to avoid Kima Levels 85 through 93, as these are still under…"

A very cold chill ran down my spine, not at the _words_ the announcer was saying, but at the image displayed behind her: a human was speaking to a group of turians and batarians, pointing at something off-screen.

"Adams," I hissed, "Bring that image back up again. _Now._ "

The hapless Blood Arrow member did as I asked, a very confused and panicked look on his face at whatever expression he saw on his _Pharaoh's_ face.

"My _Pharaoh_?"

Abdul and Quan had paused their latest quarrel to see what had captured my full attention. I grabbed Adam's arm and moved the news footage forward frame-by-frame, focusing entirely on the human figure in the background, as well as the banner now running across the bottom of the screen:

 _"EMRYS OF THE DEEPS PLEDGES TO BRING STABILITY TO THE LOWERS."_

I heard a muted gasp as Abdul and Quan saw what I was staring at, and identical looks of disbelief and shock became plastered on both of their faces.

"That's… that's not possible," Quan stated slowly, shaking his head as if to clear the sight from his vision.

"Could that be…?" Abdul looked suddenly at me, and there was a look of hope and… _joy_ I had not seen in a very long time in his expression.

"It's a different helmet and armor configuration," I replied, squinting at the image. "But it's in that same damned style he used to wear. See, with the rebar welded to make it look a turian's crest?"

"If… if it _is_ ," Abdul said cautiously, trying to keep the excitement from his voice. and failing, "this could change _everything_."

"Orders, my _Pharaoh_?" Quan stated in a much more even voice. I then remembered how much at odds the former Jackal had been with my half-brother and his multi-species-containing Hounds gang. But if he was disappointed in hearing that my brother had survived, he had the grace and prudence to keep that to himself.

"Get the men together," I said slowly, working to force down the wild exhileration that threatened to overwhelm me. "We've got to get to the Lifts."

* * *

 **Omega's Child**  
 **(Khentu Emrys)**

 **Date: 2/28/2187**  
 **Location: Legends Cartel Kima HQ, Kima District, Omega**

I was going to kill someone.

I felt cold and raw fury radiating up my spine as I stormed my way into the building. As could be imagined, being the nominal figurehead leader of the largest cartel in Kima _and_ the Deeps didn't leave a lot of time for personal recreation or leisure. I had worked and planned for _far longer_ than I cared to admit to work up a weekend away from all the responsibility and get some relaxing _me-_ time, preferably with company and substances to enhance the experience. I felt another momentary pang of guilt as I contemplated my and Laila's "not-relationship."

We still cared for each other a great deal, and even occasionally slept together, with an emphasis on "occasionally." Her leading things in the Deeps and my staying up here in Kima meant that any occasion to be together was rare, and almost always on account of important business to tend to. In fact, _she_ had been the one to arrange for a regular stream of employees of the brothels to be shown to my quarters here. And I knew that she had slept with more than one of the other Legends down in the Deeps, most of them officers, and all of them turians. I think I could honestly say that I didn't feel any real _jealousy_ about it: It was _her_ clever way of getting more support amongst the higher-ranking Legends, and the whores were her way of ensuring that I _did_ take the time to relax and sleep.

That said, arranging a weekend where _both_ of us had been free had taken a great deal of coordination and preparation. And now I was being taken away from said "vacation" by a report that "Ptolemy Emrys" was waiting for me in the Legend's Kima HQ. Whoever was pulling this practical joke had made the message impressively vague, with several levels of "he-said-that-she-said-that-he-overheard-to-tell-you." But Laila and I had quietly vowed to ourselves that we _would_ untangle that mess, and find out who was behind this joke that was, to put it mildly, in _VERY_ bad taste.

And then we would kill them, slowly and painfully.

The few Legends who had tried to approach us as we stormed our way into the compound recoiled at whatever expressions they saw on our faces, and the no-doubt urgent business they wanted to communicate suddenly became something that could wait.

There _was_ a uniformed Legend standing by the door, waiting to open it for me. Or, if I had been feeling more self-reliant, I could have also reached over and turned the gods-damned handle of the door on my own. My decision to send an armored boot to the door and _kick_ the fucking thing open was fueled purely by my rage and spite. The half-dozen brown-and-red armored figures inside had all been disarmed upon entering Legends territory, but to their credit, they all moved position themselves between their leader and whoever was entering the room in such an… unorthodox manner.

"Full points for drama," a voice said quietly into the stunned silence that followed my dramatic gesture. "None for subtlety or stealth, though."

Bodies parted to allow the figure on the far side of the room forward, and I felt a cold shock travel through my body, like someone had immersed me in an Noverian Ice-Bath. Beside me, I heard Laila take in her breath with a startled hiss through her mandibles.

"You complete and utter _bastard_ ," I heard my own voice say, laced with anger and incredulity.

The face of my half-brother was mostly covered with a well-trimmed beard and mustache now, and there were scars I did not recognize on the little skin that the armor left exposed, but the smile on it was unmistakable.

"No," he said, and his voice broke _ever so slightly_. "That's you, remember?"

I honestly don't know who moved first, but suddenly we were locked in a vice-grip of an embrace, pounding one another on the back.

"You motherfucking bastard!"

"You sonovabitch!"

I paused to cup a hand behind his head, pulling him in for another hug, looking for the first time at the companions who had come with him. Abdul Abbas stood there, copious amounts of makeup being smeared by tears running down his face.

"UNCLE!"

"Khenny!"

The small figure was shaking with sobs as another family member I had given up for dead that was locked in my next embrace.

"My beautiful, beautiful boy…"

I took a deep breath to try and compose myself, and the rest of my… of my _family_ did the same. I looked over at the rest of the party in Blood Arrow colors, only recognizing one other person.

"Quan Zhang," I chuckled, "I think for the first time in my life I can say I'm genuinely glad to see you."

"Lord Khentu," the Jackal high priest stated noncommittedly, opting only to bow slightly at the waist. "An auspicious day for the House of Emrys, and the Beloved of Ra."

There was a stirring behind me as Laila cleared her throat. Ptolemy turned towards her and gave her a smile equal to the one he had given me.

"Laila."

" _Pharaoh_ ," she replied with a carefully-guarded expression on her face, nodding to the other occupants of the room. " _Hyksos_."

"Look at you," Ptolemy grinned, gripping my shoulder again. "You've apparently done well for yourself: Lord of Kima and the Deeps?"

"Not as grand as all that," I shrugged, "It's a long story. But never mind about me, what have _you_ been up to? _Where_ have you been up to? We'd… _I'd_ given you up for dead twice over."

"As you said," Tol sighed, "It's a long story…"

 ***SOME TIME LATER***

"So you shacked up with _Cerberus_ again, betrayed them again," I repeated slowly, conscious of the overwhelming urge to rub at my eyes. "And now you've got… _how many_ Blood Arrows now?"

"Little more than three hundred fully-armed and equipped members," Ptolemy answered, ignoring Quan's look of disapproval. "Another two hundred or so logistical and support staff."

Abdul grinned like a varren who'd caught a pyjak. "Not bad, considering we left with less than twenty. But that's not even the best part…"

Now Quan let out an audible hiss of disapproval, to which Abdul only rolled his eyes.

"Khenny's _family,_ Quan. If we can't trust him, who _can_ we trust?"

"A family member firmly in the employ and control of the Black Queen," Quan said slowly, shooting me a look of not-quite-accusation. "From your own description of your circumstances, Lord Khentu."

I simply gave a noncommittal nod at the remark, he wasn't far from wrong after all, but returned my full attention back to my half-brother.

"What's he saying?" I asked, jerking my chin towards the Jackal priest. "You're not thinking of trying to take back Little Egypt with three hundred rifles?" I tried to lace as much incredulity into the question as I could.

"Not quite," Tol answered, giving me a predatory grin. "I mean to take it back with a little more than six _thousand_."

Laila beside me choked on her drink, and began to cough violently. I felt my own jaw slacken, and looks of smug amusement appeared on the faces of those in front of us.

"How the-"

"Six thousand RAMPART mechs and two hundred ATLAS battle-suits," Ptolemy went on, and the look of amusement now firmly stamped on his face.

"Where the _fuck_ did you find…?"

"Long story," Ptolemy shrugged. "Suffice to say that we have them."

"You lead them into Doru," I said slowly, choosing my words carefully, "And you'd be signing everyone's death warrants."

The amusement on the Blood Arrows' faces died, yielding to guarded caution and growls of hostility.

"You don't think it's enough?" Ptolemy asked.

"It's too spirits-damn many," Laila answered before I could. "You try and land _thousands_ of Cerberus-designed mechs on Omega, she'll come down on you so hard, you won't even _see_ the blow that kills you."

"She won't care about some two-bit gang war," Ptolemy said dimissively. "So long as the fighting doesn't spill out of…"

"The _old_ Aria wouldn't have," I cut him off. "But this is a _very_ different Omega now, brother. This is no longer the lawless station over which Aria is content to be the maternal guardian. This is the crown jewel in her military empire, and she rules over this fortress with an iron hand. A Talon can't sneeze or a member of the Brotherhood take a _shit_ without Aria knowing about it."

Ptolemy took in a deep breath, but he made no answer.

"You pressure the Tersatani and the Aramasi Serpents too hard, they _will_ go to Aria," I said into the silence. "She knows them, and she doesn't know _you_. That makes you the outsider who can't be controlled. That means the Talons. And _that means_ your cold, dead corpses."

"Not if she knew that she'd lose Kima and the Deeps," Quan Zhang stated haughtily. "When you came to the _righteous_ aid of your brother and _Rightful Pharaoh_."

"Ok, _very much_ not a good idea for many reasons," I said, taking in a breath through my nose and biting back the _hundreds_ of sarcastic retorts that leapt to mind, the joy of seeing the Jackal priest alive quickly fading to the memory of why I hated these assholes so gods-damned much.

"One, Kima and the Deeps is not as valuable to Aria as you think it is. Everyone south of Cala could _die_ , and Aria wouldn't give a damn. Two, there is no way in all seven hells I get the Legends Cartel to move against Aria. Third, lastly, and most importantly, I command only the Legends proper, and can mobilize the rest of Kima in a defensive war. The second I leave to go fight a war on Doru, or try to get the Kima rabble to resist Aria directly, it's my head on a pike, and Kima falls apart into a useless free-for-all."

"So what, we _follow_ your example and… and… _cavort_ with unbelievers, and leave sacred Egypt to the infidels and alien scum?"

There was a long pause after the Jackal's angry retort, and I could see Laila's mandibles moving in fixed frustration. No doubt she was _also_ resisting my first urge to shoot the arrogant son of a bitch where he sat.

"Sacred Egypt is _gone_ ," I said finally, my voice dropping to a cold, hard delivery of facts. "There is nothing there that we would recognize, down to the last serf, stone, and steel. Before Yulaz's corpse was even cold, the Consortium moved in and wiped out every Arrow they could find. The few that survived fled to the SBC's Illium Minor and were soon recruited and shipped off in one of their new Omega regiments. The few buildings that survived the Emperor's invasion were demolished to create the demilitarized zone that now stands between the Consortium and Illium Minor. The Connies _detonated_ warheads to collapse the Warrens between upper and lower Doru to try and slow Ganar Yulaz down and two years later, they _still_ haven't cleared all the rubble away. Everything and everyone we ever knew or cared about there. Is. Gone."

Tol held up a hand, and to my great surprise, the Jackal priest swallowed whatever remark he had been about to say.

 _They really do take him seriously as Pharaoh_ , I thought silently. _That could be very useful… or very dangerous._

"What do you recommend?" Abdul asked finally, breaking the silence. I gave him a nod of gratitude and continued:

"Kima is crowded, yes, but the fact remains that there are still huge areas of territory that nobody _really_ controls. I can cede a good deal of territory to your control, and with your army, _nobody_ will be able to object to it. Or at least, nobody would be able to do _shit_ about it."

"And we would be subject to _your_ orders?" Ptolemy said quietly. I heard the frustration and anger just below the words, and I framed my reply carefully.

"You would have the authority to rule _however_ you want. You would have the authority to reinstate the Faith, build temples, even run a humans-only… New Egypt if you wanted. Everyone in the Cartel has complete autonomy within their own territory in peacetime."

"And in war?"

I took a breath. _Of_ course my brother would see around my word-games and technicalities.

"I command the Legends of the Deep," I said, as simply and non-confrontational as I could manage. "And Aria ordered _me_ to unite Lower Kima and keep her peace."

"You would make your _elder_ brother serve under you?"

There was horrified anger and disbelief in the priest's tones, and I actually _did_ roll my eye before I answered him.

"Every _Pharaoh_ of Egypt that there has _ever been_ has bent the knee to Aria T'Loak," I replied, carefully directing my frustration at Quan, and not Ptolemy. " I did not _ask_ for this title or role. I did not seek it out or even _want_ the damn thing, but here we are. Believe me when I say I would _love_ to step down and just hand everything to Ptolemy here. But I can't; nobody here knows him, including the Black Queen. And that means nobody will _obey_ him."

The Blood Arrows in the room squirmed, but said nothing.

"If you don't mind, I would like to speak to my brother alone now."

Startled, the other Arrows looked from one to another, but their objections were silenced with the slightest of nods from Ptolemy. As one, they rose and followed Laila out of the room. She paused and the doorway and we exchanged reassuring nods before she closed the door behind her.

To my surprise, it was Ptolemy who spoke first when I turned back to face him.

"I thought you were dead," he said in a low, even voice. "And I've been mourning you for these past two years."

I hesitated, unsure of how to take that, or where this conversation was going.

"Same," I said eventually, which was true enough.

"Everything I've done was, _I thought_ , to avenge the family I lost."

"Same," I repeated, "only that family is a little bit bigger than you expected."

Ptolemy's brows furrowed as he turned towards me with a questioning look.

"Tess is here."

Shock staggered him, and he reached for the table reflexively.

"And," he paused, unsure of himself for the first time since I had entered the room, "and the child?"

I nodded.

"Her husband took a job on Horizon, right in time to get hit by the Collectors. He didn't make it, but Tess and Alexander got picked up by some batarian scavengers and brought back here to Omega. We found them, and got them back safe. They're in the Arena now, safe and happy."

"Alexander?"

"A healthy child," I grinned, "and the spitting image of his father, gods help him."

"I… I would like to see them."

I reached out and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Come back down with me, and I'll make sure it happens."

Hope and expectation warred with the doubt and hesitation in his eyes.

"Little Egypt may be lost," I said gently. "But that does not mean it is gone forever. You could make a new start here, for your people. Build a… _New_ Egypt in Kima. And who knows what the days ahead may hold? Who knows what our sons and daughters may accomplish in the future?"

Ptolemy gave me a thin smile before finishing the quote:

"But first we must ensure that they _have_ a future to come, eh?"

"Not _everything_ that Father said was bullshit."

"No," and a harsh bark of laughter escaped him. "Not everything."

"Come on… brother," I said, and I felt another well of emotion in my chest. "We can hammer out whatever political bullshit we need to _LATER_. Let's just celebrate today."

Ptolemy straightened, and I saw a decision made behind his eyes. What that decision _was_ exactly, I did not know.

"Sounds good," he said aloud, though silent thoughts and plans were racing already unspoken. "Lead on… _brother_."

* * *

 ***MEANWHILE***

 **Date: 2/28/2187**  
 **Location: The Deeps**

Kisha ul Hesdara motioned her patrol to stop. This was deeper than most of the patrols she had led, and they were nearing the True Bottom of the Station. The rumble that had caught her attention also ceased, leaving the still silence that was the curse of the Deeps.

"Jacobson," she barked, pointing a finger forward, "Check it out."

"You're jumping at shadows, Kish," the younger human shrugged nonchalantly.

"Down here, shadows can _kill_ you," she hissed between clenched teeth, making a mental note to kick his ass in the next training session. "Check. It. Out."

The human shrugged again, and walked forward with his rifle slung over his shoulder, as if he was in his own quarters, rather than in the most dangerous part of the station.

"OK, but you're gonna look silly when I – OHMYGODWHATTHEFUCK!?"

Something that Kisha would have sworn was a part of the wall _moved,_ and a towering figure rose up and impaled the hapless human, who still flailed on the spike helplessly. It was tall, nearly two meters in height, and a mass of tentacles hung from gaping, teeth-filled jaws.

"Open up!" she heard a shrill voice scream, before realizing that it was hers.

Bullets sparked across what appeared to be a biotic barrier, and the monster lifted a hand, unleashing what looked like a biotic warp from Hell. Boreas, a Lystheni Salarian, died without so much as a whimper as the violently unstable mass effect field ripped him clean in half.

The arm moved again, and something like a cannon fired.

 _Built into its arm_ , Kisha thought incredulously as another patrol member went down screaming. _Move, you stupid girl. MOVE!_

Dropping the apparently-useless pistol she carried, she grabbed the _Cutter_ rifle that Boreas had dropped, rolled, and fired. The glowing line of super-charged filament bit through the monster's leg just above the knee, taking the appendage clean off while ignoring the biotic field completely. With a roar of pain, the abomination went down, off-balance. Without conscious thought, Kisha ran forward, and fired again. This time the thin line struck what _looked_ like the neck, taking off the things' head.

There was dead silence as the patrol watched the misshapen skull roll unevenly across the floor.

"What the _KARKING_ hells was…?" someone began to ask uselessly.

"I don't know!" hissed Kisha, but then she bit back her rage at the stupid question. It was identical to the one that was running over and over again in her own mind.

"Grab the body and we'll bring it back to the Arena," she decided finally. "The Emrys will want to see it. Galvan, you and Aiden grab… Jacobson, Davis and Boreas. They deserve a Legend's funeral."

In the shock of the attack by horrible monsters and the loss of comrades, perhaps the patrol could be forgiven for thinking that the skewered Jacobson was dead, or even for failing to notice the subtle changes that were taking place _just beneath the skin_.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**  
 **Sorry for being gone for so long! Not going to say anything as mundane as "I'm back!" or "stay tuned for regular chapters from now on," but I wanted to update you all to show you that I AM still working on this story.  
** **This chapter brings us finally to the reunion of the brothers, and sets the stage for the final arc of this story (as I've envisioned it so far).  
** **My thanks to Katkiller-V for his beta-reading/editing skills, and the use of his Another Realm fan-verse of Mass Effect. **

**ROCK ON, MY FRIENDS!**

 **-Tusken1602**

* * *

Reviewer Responses:

BJ Hanssen: Glad you liked it! I have even more plot lines and characters arcs coming together in the next few chapters, so I hope you'll stay tuned!

seabo76: The reunion is not free of conflict or tension, as the brothers are two COMPLETELY different people than when they last saw each other. Where that will go from here, only time can tell.

EE-RAH!


	31. Act 6: They Came From The Deeps

**Broken Image  
(Laila Adonis)**

Location: Kima District, Omega

"You have your own docks?" Ptolemy asked as we were given clearance to leave the crowded traffic of Kima. There was a shudder as our shuttle escaped beyond the station's own titanic barriers into open space itself, and all of us became about half of our original weight thanks to the overworked artificial-gravity generator in the ancient vehicle.

"It's a small operation, but suitable for our own needs," Khentu shrugged. "Most of our product gets put back on the Lifts for Kima's construction projects, or off to the Uppers to be crated and shipped out in the proper warehousing district up there. But we don't even handle that part of it; we put the finished product on the Uppers lift, and then get paid there. Some of it goes out as far as the Steel King's shipyards, and I even heard one shipment of our construction-grade stuff got shipped all the way to Illium."

Ptolemy gave the magnanimous nod of an experienced spacer listening to the naive farm-boy speak of the wonders that he had discovered over the next hill. Khentu snorted in reply, and turned back to face the transparasteel with the air of offended sensibilities.

We were outside the station proper and half-way down back to the Deep Docks when every alarm we had began blaring its klaxon call. Nervous glances shot around the small party in the shuttle, and some of the Arrows actually pulled their guns out, as if that would do them any good in a closed shuttle outside of Omega.

 **"Emrys,"** came the call over the comms. Jesse's usually even and calm tone was laced with sub-harmonics of barely-contained panic. **"We are under attack."**

"Who?" Khentu asked, and I smiled as I heard him keep his voice calm and even. "Pirates? Another gang invasion?"

 **"Deepers."**

A cold chill ran through me, and Khen and I shared a look. Ptolemy on the other hand, looked confused.

"Mutated residents of the Deeps," I explained, broadly. "Quarantined from Patriarch's time."

The Arrows gave nods of comprehension for the most part, and I felt a stab of near-guilt the massive understatement. The whole truth, that they were horrible monsters from the Under-verse that would _eat_ you as soon as look at you, seemed a bit much. It had almost been too much for the Legends to comprehend, and we had been fighting them since day one of our lift-collapsed exile.

"How many of them?" Khentu asked, and I could see a hundred plans already coursing through his head.

 **"Several hundred at least,"** came the tense reply. **"They are moving in from Zone 9."**

Khentu and I shared another look. That was more Deepers than we had seen since we had first secured the Arena. Whatever this was, it was no mere investigative foray or stray Deeper party.

"Perimeter defenses?" I asked.

 **"They have fallen,"** Jesse replied. **"Apparently, they have some ability to infect our own soldiers and turn them into… something else."**

"What the-?" With a visible effort, Khentu cut off the myriad of questions that were on everyone's minds. "Never mind, we're inbound now… Standby."

Our unarmed shuttle cleared the last bend, and immediately I could see the Arena defenses firing at… _something._ It looked like the sand beyond the outer plain had been stained black, and then both of us realized that it looked like that because of the sheer press of bodies coming forward at a run.

 _"Amun-Ra,"_ I heard Ptolemy and several of the Arrows whisper next to us, and I remembered that this was the first time any of them had seen anything like the horrors that littered the Deeps.

"Don't bother with the landing pads!" Khentu called out to the pilot. "Set us down in the Training Field!"

"Yes, Emrys," came the reply, and the shuttled roared downward directly into the maelstrom of fire.

We had to skirt the roof of the giant antechamber in which the Arena sat, over the open killing fields we had cleared that were now swarming with Deepers. The zones of fire had been more than enough to hold back what Deeper packs we'd seen in the past, but this was on a whole other level. Spirits, from what little I could see, I wasn't sure our core defenses were going to hold at all.

"What I wouldn't give for The Bloody One," Khentu grunted as he reached for his helmet. "My right arm and my swinging dick, I swear to Osiris…"

"Oh, I thought you were going to give up something _big."_

Khentu paused at Ptolemy's retort, I was forced to stifle an unexpected laugh from escaping my throat.

"Fuck you," Khentu finally said, but I could tell that even despite the enormous gravity of the situation, he was doing his best not to laugh himself.

"Eloquent as always, dear brother."

"Stick close to me," Khentu said, pointedly changing the subject as the shuttle began to touch down,

"You don't know the way around here," he added by way of explanation, when a few of the Arrows seemed to take offence at someone giving orders to their _Pharaoh_. "Laila, get to the Comm Room and let the Talons and everyone else on Kima know what the _fuck_ is going on."

"You got it," I stated evenly.

 _Now if only any of us actually_ knew _what the fuck was going on_ , went unsaid between us.

* * *

 **Chosen Heir**

 **(Ptolemy Emrys)**

Location: The Grand Arena, the Deeps, Omega

"MAKE WAY!"

The Arrows of Knesset with me gripped their weapons nervously as we began making our way through a panicked crowd, comprised of every age, sex, and species imaginable. I doggedly kept my gaze and my focus on the crested helmet of my brother, and a blue tinge began to grow around me as I began preemptively charging my amp. The sound of gunfire grew louder and louder as we progressed, until finally we came around a final bend, and three figures came into view.

The first was a female krogan, who was drawing a shotgun from her back with one hand, while hefting a _javelin, by the gods,_ with the other.

The second was a figure of a quarian who, by her heavy mask, backpack, and hood, appeared to be from the Flotilla. A pilgrim most likely, my brain told me, and then I was surprised again by the sight of her activating not only a biotic barrier around herself, but also launching a powerful attack into the throngs of… _Deepers_ , so my brother and Laila had called them, pressing forward.

And the third was…

My heart seemed to either stop completely or launch into overdrive, I couldn't tell which.

"Tess!" I heard Khentu call out as he dove into the firing line. "Where is Alex?"

 _Alex…_

 _My son…_

 _Our son…_

"Nursery!" came the answer, and Tess held down the trigger of her SMG until it whined helplessly in overheat, and then cast it aside casually in favor of a rifle that someone had passed her. She looked up, and our eyes met in a clash of stars and titanic energy.

"Don't just stand there, Tol!" she called out. "OPEN FIRE!"

It was like someone had dashed a bucket of ice down the back of my shirt, and I lifted my own rifle and opened fire in support.

"Spread out!" cried Abdul, as the smaller man ran forward with his knife out in one hand, and his heavy pistol in the other. "Pace your fire, don't let them overheat you!"

My Arrows sprang forward to follow him, shaking out into a second firing line and casting as much steady firepower as they could down-range. The effect of our heavier _Harrier_ rifles was immediate, and the enemy suddenly grew much less enthusiastic about rushing forward, at least in this particular area. I stole a glance sideways as Tess was pulling a figure in Legends armor over the makeshift barricade.

This was not the frail, timid girl I remembered accompanying to the Doru Docks. There was a steely determination in her eyes as she locked eyes with the wounded Legend, spared a single glance at the wounded arm, then drew a pistol and put a round between his eyes in one fluid motion.

"WHAT THE FUCK, TESS?" Khentu's question had as much shock and incomprehension as I was sure our expressions did, beneath our helmets.

"He's been bitten," Tess said, as if that explained everything. Then she pulled off the Legend's crude helmet. "Look."

The face that revealed was _human_ , but even as we watched, three tendril-like appendages broke through the skin of the forehead, falling limp on the ruined face.

"Fucking _hells!_ " Khentu followed his eloquent observation with three more shots from his heavy pistol, ruining whatever was left of the head.

"Most of the mob coming at us _were_ our own people, not three hours ago," the female krogan rumbled gravely. "In all my years, I've never seen anything like it."

" **Khentu,"** came Laila's voice over the comms. **"Ignatius and the other captains are gathered here, ready with a briefing. For now, it looks like they're falling back from all zones to prepare for another rush."**

"The priest?" I asked, and Khentu nodded mutely, almost absentmindedly. Then his head snapped up in a decisive motion.

"Muerta," he stated evenly. "You hold them here. Chell, you come with me."

The quarian and the krogan nodded.

"Tol, can I ask your Arrows to help support here? At least until I can get this… fuck-fest organized? If you'd like, you can come with me, and be briefed at the same time as me."

I nodded quickly, gesturing for Abdul to take command in my absence. Quan folded his rifle and took up position behind me. If he objected to the Jackal's insistence at being included in this impromptu briefing, my little brother didn't show it.

"Let's go," my little brother breathed. "I've got to… figure out what the fuck is going on."

He spun on his heel and began walking down the corridor. The krogan, apparently Chell, followed. I breathed a small sigh of relief. Uncle Abdul and the Arrows would quibble if this _Muerta_ tried to give them orders, but they would have been just shy of _murderous_ if a krogan had attempted to do so. I didn't doubt for a moment that had been Khentu's exact train of thought, even in this moment of crisis.

A hand reached out and grasped my arm, and I turned to see that Tess had fallen in beside us.

"I…I…" she began, a glimpse of the old Tess coming back into her uncertain expression. "I suppose we're long overdue for a serious conversation."

I couldn't suppress the snort of amusement at the sheer understatement. I was surprised at exactly how much of me wanted to sweep her into my arms and lock her an embrace from which she could never escape. I wanted to drag her into an alcove somewhere and make love her to her for hours. I wanted…

I wanted to make up for the years we had been separated. I wanted to begin rebuilding what I had lost during those terrible days in Doru. Faces and names flashed before my eyes again:

 _Nobu._

 _Father._

 _Isola._

I shook myself, realizing that I had been simply staring for _far_ too long. Slowly, I stretched out an armored hand and placed it gently over her own. Her nostrils flared, but I felt her muscles relax beneath my own.

"I suppose we do," I stated slowly. "It's… it's good to see you, Tess."

A hand squeezed my arm nervously.

"Same," she answered. "Same."

No other words were spoken during the short walk to the Legends' Command Center, but long before we reached there, I had made my vow to my ancestors and whatever gods or deities ruled from on high: In a single day, I had recovered friends and family that I had thought lost to me forever.

And I would never, never lose them again. Not while there was still strength in my fingers or breath within my lungs.

* * *

 **Omega's Child**  
 **(Khentu Emrys)**

Location: The Grand Arena, The Deeps, Omega

I felt a massive migraine coming on as the bleak situation unfolded on the table in front of me. Almost half of our best fighters had been sent out with Nakmor Syed on an Eclipse contract job, along with the _Fury._ The other half of our picked soldiers were keeping the peace in Kima, scattered to the winds across the entire district. Even if I _tried_ to get them all down here, Kima would fall apart when the various mini-gangs tried to take advantage of the chaos to thumb their noses at the Legends.

For the second time, it looked like I was about to pay a heavy price for assuming the Arena and the Deeps was my _secure zone_. Vast swathes of crimson spread across what little area of the Deeps we had secured, showing where we had either been overrun or lost communication, which almost certainly amounted to the same thing. Basically, we controlled the Docks, the Arena, and the tunnels between us and the Villa.

Though the gods alone knew how fucking long that would last.

"I have six ships in deep orbit," Ptolemy was saying as I brought my mind back to the conversation at hand. Quan hissed in disapproval, but my brother brought up his Omni-Tool, and the display in front of us changed to show a map of the entire system. A half-dozen red icons flickered from deep in the Asteroid Belt.

"Clear a space for us, and we'll come in, guns blazing."

I did my best not to let my shoulders sag in relief, for the most part unsuccessfully. I had half-expected Ptolemy to demand Tess and his son be put back onto a shuttle and _leave_ on his insane crusade to reclaim Upper Doru. It was obvious that I was no longer in any position to object or offer him any alternative course of action.

But now, here he was, offering his… _how many was it again…_ six _thousand_ troops to support me in retaking my own territory. And with none of the superiority of the older brother cleaning up his younger brother's mess, either.

 _He has grown up_ , I thought, impressed almost against my will. _I suppose we both have_.

"I can have Jehu's squad clear a beachhead for you," I stated, and the batarian Legend captain nodded in reply.

Now Ptolemy's face fell, and his expression tightened. "That may be… problematic."

I got a sinking feeling in my gut. "Why?"

"There are a great many aliens in the ranks of your… Legends."

I felt my eyebrows try to climb into my hairline. _Amun-Ra,_ this was not the time for Tol's stupid human-centric bull-

My own thoughts cut off as I realized the exact _nature_ of Ptolemy's proposed reinforcements.

"Tol," I said slowly and my fingers pressed into my eyes as I _willed, WILLED_ my brother not be as stupid as I was almost _sure_ he had been. "Please tell me you didn't program your _fucking_ mechs' IFFs to shoot anything that _wasn't_ human."

Ptolemy's smile grew razor thin, and he and the Jackal high priest met the disbelieving gazes of the rest of the room evenly.

"I _thought_ I would be using them to reclaim Lower Egypt," he shrugged finally, as if that fucking explained everything.

"Oh, for spirits' sakes…" Laila groaned, placing her hands over her own face in exasperation.

"In all fairness," Father Ignatius cut in, before anyone else could lose their tempers over the insane situation. "Down in the Lower Docks, everything there happens to both not be human _and_ an enemy."

I blinked, and realized he was right.

Ptolemy straightened, and nodded in that smug way of 'Of course, I had planned it that way the entire time,' when we both knew he had done nothing of the fucking sort.

"I'll divert my ATLAS mechs toward the Arena," he said aloud, "and then we'll use the RAMPARTs as the point of a spear we send ahead of us."

"My Lord," Quan objected, leaning forward, unable to keep quiet any longer. "We could lose the entire force."

 _And any advantage to use them to reclaim Lower Egypt_ , went unsaid between them, thankfully. None of the Legends in the room beside Laila and myself had met the Jackal priest before, but that hadn't stopped the fucking racist from making an ass of himself in the half-hour it had taken to go through the briefing we had just concluded.

"These undead demons from the Under-verse are the true enemy, Beloved of Ra," Ptolemy stated, much more diplomatically than I could have done. "We must deal with them first before we can be free to secure any kind of future for the Arrows of Knesset."

The priest didn't look 'convinced' so much as 'mollified,' but at least he leaned back and offered no more objections.

"How soon can you contact your ships?" I asked, before the white-armored idiot could stick his foot further into his mouth. "And how soon can they arrive?"

"That depends entirely upon the quality of your communications equipment," Ptolemy stated drolly, and I rolled my eyes to show what I thought of his pedantic shenanigans.

"Fuck it; Barco, show my carefully-precise brother to the Comm Center and try and get in touch with those ships," I stated slowly. "At the same time, relay a red-alert to Red and the Talons. Tell them to get their asses in gear and send every able-bodied fighter south, if they want to keep their Queen's precious station intact."

"The gangs of Kima will never allow the Talons free passage through their territory," Laila stated as the two figures I had named left the room, followed, _thank the gods,_ by the Jackal priest. Her tone was not one of objection, but simple statement of fact. "Not to fight boogeymen that they have never seen with their own eyes."

"They're not going to be _able_ to object," I shrugged. "Because I'm calling a full muster of Kima District and taking the varren's share of their fighters to defend the Arena."

A stir of surprise went through the assembled group.

"Do you believe they will obey such a call?" Chell asked slowly.

"They will obey, or face the consequences," I replied forcefully. "Send up every recording we have of the Deepers, including that _gods_ -awful clip of Jacobson mutating into one of those… things, and broadcast it to every screen we can. They'll fight the threat down here, or they'll die when all of _us_ get turned into those things and come up the Lifts after them."

"I do not wish to be the harbinger of doom," Jesse cut in, "but if it looks like we're about to overrun, Aria will most likely blow the charges of the Main Lift."

"Of course she will," I nodded, trying to keep out all the dread I felt at that particular prospect. "Wisest course of action she could take."

"Then we must get the civilians moving through the tunnels and passageways back to the Villa and the Kima lifts," Ignatius mused thoughtfully. "God willing, if we can exterminate these vermin, the way will be clear for their return. Otherwise, they will be trapped here when the Lift blows, and this… mutagen seems no respecter of persons. Every single body that remains here is a potential casualty, and a potential enemy."

"Gods," I whispered, rubbing furiously at my eyes to stave off the oncoming migraine, "I hate thinking in terms of those kinds of statistics, but yeah, the priest's right. Tess, Ignatius, and Chell, I'm going to put you in charge of that evacuation. Get the old, sick, and children moving, and then put a gun from the Armory into the hands of every able-bodied fighter we got, and shove them into a firing line."

"This is going to get worse before it gets better, isn't it?" Tess asked, and her voice was thin and strained. A feeling equal parts guilt and pity washed over me: this girl had been driven out of every home she had ever had, either by poverty, war, or some combination of both.

"We stick together, Tess," I stated evenly, putting confidence that I frankly didn't honestly feel into my voice, "and we'll come out the other side alright, just like we've always done."

" _Amen_ ," Ignatius nodded soberly, and made the cross-motion that he always did when he was performing one of his rituals.

"Alright, people," I continued. "We've all got our marching orders. Let's get to it before the next wave of Deepers hits us. Remember, anyone so much as _suspects_ one of those fucking orbs getting close, you run like a bat outta hell, sounding every alarm you can before we send every ounce of firepower that way to wipe the fuckers out. Let's be about it."

* * *

 **Assumed Stranger  
(Oran T'Loak)**

Location: Afterlife Club, Omega

"What the _fuck_ is going on in the Deeps?"

Silence fell on the room, and the upper circle of our "family," otherwise known as the T'Loak clan, fell silent.

"In case anyone was wondering," Aria T'Loak stated slowly, and her voice could have frozen helium, "that _wasn't_ a fucking rhetorical question."

I sighed internally, I wasn't stupid enough to do it aloud when Auntie was in one of these moods, and straightened from where I had been leaning against the wall.

"Near as the Talons have been able to find out through their information sources," I began slowly, filling the silence and ensuring my voice stayed calm and even. "Emrys and his Legends have stumbled across a goddess-fucked-ton of those… Deepers."

Aria's mouth became a thin line of contemplation, and then she gave a single, curt nod. "What further steps has Emrys taken?"

"He's locked down the Main Lift to the Arena, and is pulling in all of the regular Legends from Kima," Nyreen answered, her artificial mandibles moving in an involuntary gesture of concern. "In addition, he's ordered a full mobilization of the Kima gangs."

"How many of them?" Aria demanded.

"Near as we can tell?" I shrugged. "All of them."

There was a long pause, and then I saw _that_ look in Auntie's eyes when she had made a decision. "Moklan."

"Ma'am?"

The batarian lieutenant's expression was drawn, and his mouth was set in a grim line. He had been viewing the same information as the rest of us, and had probably reached the same conclusions she had.

"Get the message out to any of our people down there," she barked. "Kandros, get your Talons into gear. If Emrys is pulling the Kima trash down to fight this..."

"This will be a perfect opportunity to seize more direct control of Kima," Nyreen finished for her. She was probably one of the few individuals in the galaxy who would have dared cut off the Black Queen of Omega in mid-sentence. "I don't expect much resistance by the local neighborhoods. Likely most of them will be relieved to have someone _permanently_ in charge of their district, rather than the constantly-changing situation they're in now."

I brought up my Omni-Tool, relaying the messages to those whom _I_ would have to get into gear in order to make this happen. Moving from the Talons' ranks into those of our newly-revamped Navy had been a welcome change of pace, but now I would have to arrange _transport_ for this little not-so-hostile takeover of Kima by the Talons. As I was in the midst of seeing what shuttles I would have available, the room plunged from its normal dim, club-setting lighting into a deep, dark crimson.

" **My Queen."** The scratchy voice of the station's mildly insane AI thrummed, echoing from every speaker.

"Go ahead, Elder."

The station AI was heavily shackled, but the obviously fake subservience in the voice still gave me the creeps. **"I have received a Priority One message from the human Khentu Emrys."**

There was an audible pause in the buzz of the room's conversation.

"Put him through," Aria said after a moment.

 **"It is a recorded broadcast** ," the horribly-irritating voice intoned. **"No opportunity for a reply was included."**

I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes at the electronic pedantry and Aria jerked her chin impatiently. "Put it on the main display."

 **"As you command."**

The holo-display revealed a human in heavy battle armor. The voice was garbled coming through the helmet, but there was only one human on Omega who had a helmet welded to look like a turian elder's crest.

 **"This is Khentu Emrys, of the Legends of the Deeps,"** the message began. **"Authentication Code: Black-Yellow-Yellow-Niner-Seven-One. Case Janiris. I say again, Janiris, Janiris, Janiris. Emrys, clear."**

Aria T'Loak closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath through her nostrils. Case Janiris was the code relayed by Omega's commanders in one case and one case only: the presence of those never-to-be-sufficiently-damned black orbs.

Then the Black Queen of Omega straightened, and she gazed back at the frozen image of the human.

"Fuck.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **A holiday gift for all of my faithful readers/reviewers! I hope you are all well, and surrounded by friends and family.**

 **My thanks to Katkiller-V, not only for the use of his AU-universe, but also for his awesome beta-reading/editing skills! **

**As always, your thoughts/ suggestions/ comments/ constructive criticisms are always welcome in either the reviews below or in my PMs.**

 **Rock on, my friends!**

 **EE-RAH!**

 **Tusken1602**


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